He beams. “Big first step.Hugefirst step.”
“Am I crazy?”
“Yeah,” he says, not missing a beat. “But it’s way more fun that way.”
I let go of the dish and groan. “I’m not a huge risk taker.”
He walks over to the counter and sets down the baklava. “Huh. I beg to differ.” He waves a hand over the spread on the counter. “You’re about to try another new cuisine. That’s risky.”
I smile and shake my head, then look at all the unboxed Mediterranean dishes that smell like heaven. “You know what I mean.”
He puts his hands on the counter and pulls my gaze. “Listen, you moved here to a city where you don’t know anyone, with no job, no family, and no friends. I’d say that’s pretty risky.”
I feel intoxicated realizing that he noticed. Because part of me assumed everyone back home, apart from Minnie, probably thought I was runningawayfrom something and nottowardsomething.
But Miles gets it. And he’s acknowledging how hard it was.
“Pretty brave, Claire.”
I don’t look away. I’m frozen and trying desperately to swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I finally say.
He claps his hands together and looks down at the food. “I don’t think we should even use plates,” he says. “Grab a fork.”
I’m grateful for the change of subject and the levity. “Is that because you hate doing dishes?” I laugh.
“Yes.” He holds out a fork and I take it, then sit on the stool next to the counter.
As we eat, we talk. I have about a million and twelve ideas, and even more questions.
Thankfully, the space is in great shape—mostly in need of decorating and not renovating, but there are still going to be some steep up-front expenses. This springboards the conversation into the benefits of getting a loan versus using my savings as an investment versus trying to secure an investor or two.
“I could invest,” Miles says as he takes a bite of falafel.
My mouth is full of pita bread and hummus, but I shake my head, humming a closed-mouth “uh-uh.”
“Why not?”
I swallow the bite. “It’s a bad idea to get into business with friends.”
“Who says?”
“People,” I say, though I can’t for the life of me think of one.
“What if I wasn’t an investor, like, technically?” he says. “What if I just gave you some money to buy twinkle lights and tablecloths? Like a gift.”
I frown. “Why would you do that?”
He frowns right back. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He makes it sound so simple. So obvious. I laugh it off and look away.
Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.
“Plus your idea is so cool, and everything I’ve tasted so far has been incredible.” He pauses. “You know this is a great thing, Claire.”
“I read that most new businesses don’t even make it five years,” I say.
“Yeah, but all of those people are stupid,” he says, deadpan, and I almost spit out the bite of pita bread in my mouth.
