All the occupants were engaged in conversation or engrossed in reading material.
Excellent.
Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “May I ask you a professional question—in confidence?”
“Sure.”
“Have you ever built a ballet studio?”
BJ’s eyebrows rose. “That’s not a question I get very often.”
“I have a project in mind. Very early stages. Too early to talk about, really. But as long as our paths crossed today, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions, get a read on the level of expertise available in the area.”
“That sort of work hasn’t come my way since I moved here, but I was the lead architect at my firm in LA on a bid we won to design a large-scale studio and performance space for a modern dance company. Their emphasis wasn’t classical ballet by any means, but the dancers all had ballet training, and they did do some pointe pieces.”
That sounded promising.
“Do you remember much about the studio part of the project?”
“A fair amount. I did tons of research before we launched the actual design phase. The client had very specific demands in terms of changing rooms, reception area, and office space, but the studio was their main focus. I remember the flooring was critical. Ithad to have sufficient bounce to absorb energy, but it also had to be slip-resistant yet easy to glide over. We also put in a floating subfloor. And we soundproofed the three studio rehearsal spaces so adjacent office areas wouldn’t be disturbed.”
Thorough—and impressive.
“Charley wasn’t exaggerating about your expertise.”
The other woman waved that aside. “Any architect or contractor worth their salt does their homework. I’d have to take a refresher course if a job like that came along again, but I’d be open to tackling it.”
And she’d no doubt do an excellent job. BJ came across as the buttoned-up, conscientious type. Someone who didn’t let any details fall through the cracks.
Exactly the kind of person she’d need if she decided to pursue the idea percolating in her mind that refused to be quashed.
Devyn swallowed the sip of coffee she’d taken. “Do you have a business card with you?”
“Always.” BJ fished one out of the pocket of her worn jeans, handed it over, and drained her cup. “I hate to desert you, but I’m on a lumber run and only intended to grab a quick coffee until Charley bribed me with a slice of Eleanor Cooper’s fudge cake, which is legendary in these parts. Don’t leave town without treating yourself to a piece. Zach always has some in the case.”
“I’ll remember that. Thanks for all the information.”
“Good luck on the project.”
“I’ll keep you in the loop if anything comes of it.”
As BJ strode toward the door, pausing to deposit her cup in the trash before she exited, Devyn leaned back. Let out a slow breath.
That had been an interesting meeting.
Providential, almost.
Of course, their impromptu chat had been nothing more than a preliminary discussion. To pursue a dance studio project, a ton of upfront work would be required. Financials would have to be run, lease terms reviewed, customer base studied to see if therewere enough prospective students in the area to make the venture sustainable. Any of those could be a deal breaker.
Still, there was potential. Perhaps even an opportunity to grasp, or a new road to follow, as the quotes of the day in front of The Perfect Blend had suggested.
A tingle of excitement rippling through her, she picked up her cup. Took another sip of her drink. Grimaced.
Her latte had cooled.
But the idea that had taken root in her mind was beginning to heat up.
Even if it didn’t fit with her five-year plan.
