“Which would be…?”
“I don’t know,” she says, but something in her expression has shifted. There’s a focus there now, a spark. “But it’s actually not a terrible idea, is it? Could start small in one city. A pilot. Somewhere with multiple teams.”
“Cities where trades happen constantly,” I add.
“Yes.” She nods, excited. “Where athletes cycle in and out, but the community stays.”
The conversation flows naturally, bouncing between practical considerations and increasingly elaborate amenities. Nicole pulls out her phone to make notes, her fingers flying across the screen as she captures ideas.
I’m honestly struck by the transformation.
She’s focused, thoughtful, seeing connections and possibilities I never would’ve considered. I find myself getting caught up in her enthusiasm, offering insights from my own experiences and those of teammates.
“Do you really think this could work?” Nicole asks after we’ve been talking for what feels like hours. “Not just as a cool concept, but as a viable business?”
“I do. I mean, I don’t know much about the business side of it all, but I think it’s definitely worth looking into.”
She nods.
And suddenly, what started as a passing idea begins to feel like a real possibility—like a place that might actually change things.
“You should do it,” I hear myself say.
She laughs nervously. “Yeah, right. Because my track record with businesses is so stellar.”
“This is different,” I insist. “You saw a problem—and you’re building a solution around real people.”
Something shifts in her expression—a vulnerability that matches my own from earlier. “You really think so?”
“I know so. Look at how excited you got just talking about it,” I insist. “And selfishly? I wish this place had existed five years ago.”
Her smile softens. “Then maybe Iamonto something.” Nicole looks down at all the notes she made on her phone. She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I really didn’t expect to come up with a new business concept when I knocked on your door tonight.”
“Life’s full of surprises.”
“It sure is.” She scrolls through her notes again, slower this time. More deliberately. Like she’s seeing them differently now.
For a second, she doesn’t say anything.
“You know what’s funny?” she finally says. “I’ve spent so much time chasing things that I thought would prove something about me.”
I glance at her.
“Beauty products. Skincare lines. Stuff that looked impressive on paper. They always felt … fine. But never quite right.” She exhales. “And even when Glow Girl stopped making sense, I kept pushing. Everyone told me it was okay to quit. But I was so focused on proving Icouldmake something work, I never stopped to ask if it was the right thing.”
She looks back up at me, more grounded than before.
“But this?” She taps her phone. “This feels like it could be different. I’m not forcing it. And I think it’s something I could be good at.”
“Sometimes the right path isn’t the one you planned.”
Her eyes meet mine, holding for a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. Exactly.”
The moment stretches between us, comfortable and charged all at once. What surprises me most isn’t the idea we just talked through, or how easily the time slipped away. It’s the way she looked at my life—not as something enviable or impressive, but as something that could be made gentler. More livable.
It’s rare, I realize, to be seen not for what you do, but for what you carry.
The awareness lingers. Long enough to notice how close Nicole is, how the light catches the soft gold in her hair, how her eyes seem to change when she tilts her head.
