“The opportunity you’ve been looking for is there now,” he says. “If you’re going to move forward with your concept, this is the time.”
My gaze lifts, scanning the space again. The bare walls desperately in need of new paint. The outlines done in painter’s tape on the floor where equipment will go. The skeleton of something that can be really special if I can pull it together.
“I’ve already started,” I admit. “The lease is signed. Plans are in motion.”
“I assumed as much.”
“I’ll need to review your projections. Costs, timelines, staffing, menu concepts—everything.”
It’s more demand than question, but all I can focus on is the fact that this feels a lot like permission. A lot like he’s agreeing to the Harrington Group investing in Julian and my concept.
“Yeah,” I breathe out quickly. “I can send that over.”
Another pause. Shorter this time, but still poignant.
“You have my approval to proceed.”
Finally.
Starting my own restaurant, away from my family’s legacy, has always felt just out of reach. Like there will always be one more step, one more hoop to jump through.
“If you execute this properly, it will position you well for expansion within the next three to five years.”
I huff out a small breath that might pass for a laugh if you’re not paying close attention. “Already planning the second location, eh?”
“You should always be planning ahead.”
“Right.” I clear my throat.
We fall into a brief silence that stretches longer than it should. This is always the awkward part with him. Even when we aren’t at odds, we don’t have much to say.
“You did well,” he says again, like he’s checking a box. Without a doubt, Mom is standing near the desk, coaching him into being more encouraging.
I hum in acknowledgment.
“That will be all.”
The line clicks dead, and I lower the phone slowly, staring at the screen for a second before it goes dark.
That’s it?
No questions about how I’m doing. Nothing beyond the show or the business. Just confirmation that I met expectations. I shake my head. I hadn’t expected anything more, yet a small part of me had hoped for it anyway.
I slip my phone into my pocket and look around the space again, trying to imagine the concept coming together.
You did exactly what I needed you to do.
The words echo, but they don’t sit the same way they used to. A few months ago, that and the official approval of Northern Flame would have been enough. More than enough. Now…
I drag a hand over my jaw and exhale.
“Yeah,” I mutter to the empty room. “Guess I did.”
The rest of the afternoon is a mind-numbing montage of back-and-forth moments with the contractor.
We walk through the layout again, nailing down all the details: equipment placement, ventilation, how the line will flow during service, and what needs to be in place to make that happen.
I nod, ask questions, jot down notes, and make decisions faster than I used to.
