I paused, then leaned over the bar and pulled a small box out. “First,” I said, “something sweet to match the flowers.” I pulled it open, revealing one of the red velvet cupcakes from our favorite bakery.
Marco laughed, then accepted the treat. “Is it going to be that bad that you had to get me the cupcake, too?”
“Nope,” I said with a smile, then grabbed a fork from behind the bar. “The cupcake is for me as much as it is for you.”
Marco pursed his lips, then laughed. “Fair enough.”
I grabbed the papers, spreading them out on the bar while we passed the fork back and forth. I ran through the numbers quickly, showing how the Saturday night party alone would shift the profit margin enough to make it all possible, then passed on all the information the architect had given me. I talked through every practical detail, from the expected flow of bar sales to the square footage of dance floor, knowing well that Marco would transform those numbers into interior decoration and nightclub style that was breathtaking.
Mostly, though, I stressed the difference in profit. It would take some time to make back the investment, but we were talking about the difference between a modest retirement and an early retirement that was much more indulgent.
“The firm would take fifty grand,” I said, “but it will all count toward the final construction costs, so we’d be spending it anyway.”
Marco frowned, clearly thinking carefully. “When do we have to decide by?”
I tidied up the papers. “If we could let the firm know within a few weeks, they could get a proper start before winter. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait a year.”
“And you think this is the right thing to do?” Marco asked. Worry clouded his face, and I stepped behind him so I could rub his back while he talked. “You think it will make us happier, in the end?”
“I think so,” I said. “But if you don’t want to go ahead, I want you to know I won’t be upset, and I won’t hold it against you. A part of me is always going to be excited by new opportunities like this, but I only want to move forward if it’s right for you, and for us.”
Marco nodded. “Let me think a little more,” he said. “I’ll decide by next weekend.”
I felt a thrill, like when he had agreed to be my business partner all those years ago. “I’d love to treat us with an early retirement.”
“I always thought we were meant for the beach,” Marco agreed.
Before I could even tidy up the bar again, our phones both vibrated. Somehow, I just knew it was a message from Grayson.
“Next Thursday afternoon,” Marco said, reading from the text.
“And he wants to take us out this time,” I said, chuckling. “I can’t blame him, considering the last date.”
“Thursday afternoon it is, I guess. That work for you?”
“Sure does,” I agreed. If I were going to spend the next weeks waiting to hear Marco’s decision on the club, having a little more time with Grayson sounded like the perfect distraction.
