“Because I’d be moving to be near him. That’s insane, right? We barely know each other.”
“Do you want to move there because of him? Or because of this?” She gestures to the screen. “Because there’s a difference.”
I think about it. Really think about it.
“Both,” I admit. “I want this. I want to build something that’s mine. But I also want to be near him. I want to see where this goes. I want to stop being scared and just take the leap.”
“Then do it.”
“It’s too fast. Too impulsive,” I argue with her.
“Since when is knowing what you want impulsive?” Maggie asks. “You spent nine years with Chett trying to figure out what would make him happy. Maybe it’s time you figured out what makes you happy.” She needs to take some of her own advice too.
“This would make me happy,” I whisper, looking at the photos again. “This would make me really happy.”
“Then that’s your answer.”
I chew my lip. “I don’t have the money for this.”
“You have some savings, don’t you? And there are small business loans out there.” She pauses. “Or ... you could have a partner.”
“A partner?”
“Let me look into it.” She’s already pulling out her phone. “I’ll do some research. Look at the financials. See if it’s actually viable. Then you can decide.”
“Maggie, you don’t have to,” I tell her, not while she is going through her own internal crisis.
“I want to. Please. Let me do this. Let me help. I need something else to concentrate on.”
There’s something in her voice. Something almost desperate. “Okay,” I say slowly. “If you want to look into it, go ahead.”
She smiles, and it’s the first real smile I’ve seen from her in a long time.
19
SLOANE
Days later, Maggie shows up at Riley’s apartment with a folder. Not just any folder. A thick, organized, color-coded folder that screams Type A lawyer who did extensive research type of folder.
“Okay,” she announces, setting it on the coffee table with the gravity of someone presenting evidence in court. “I looked into the business.” Riley and I exchange glances. I mentioned that Maggie wanted to investigate it. “I called the realtor. Got the financials. Ran projections. Looked at comparable businesses in the area. Researched the town’s demographics and foot traffic.” She opens the folder, revealing spreadsheets, printouts, and highlighted documents. “The asking price is reasonable. The current revenue is steady. The owner is retiring but willing to stay on for a transition period. The building lease is solid with favorable terms,” she explains.
I stare at her. “You did all this in three days?”
“I’m very efficient when motivated.” She pulls out more papers. “Look. Here are the profit and loss statements for the last three years. Revenue has been steady. Expenses are manageable. The margins aren’t huge, but they’re respectablefor a small business in a small mountain town, especially outside tourist season.”
Riley leans in. “Holy shit. You really did your homework.”
“I’m a lawyer. Research is literally my job.” Maggie flips to another page. “The inventory is included in the sale price, which is good. The equipment is well-maintained. The location is prime, right on the town square, high foot traffic, and good visibility. And here’s the interesting part.” She pulls out a demographic report. “The town is growing. Lots of young families are moving in. Tourism is up. There’s demand for exactly this kind of business.”
I’m staring at all the papers, my brain trying to process. “This is ... this is incredible. But, Maggie, why did you do all this?”
She sets down the papers and looks at me. “Because I want in.”
Silence.
“What?” I breathe.
“I want to do this with you.” She says it firmly, no hesitation. “I told you I hate being a lawyer. I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with my life. And this could be it.”
