Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Like that, the romantic moment unspools. It’s time for business. As she wanders away, giving us space, I try to clear my thoughts. I rewind to a few minutes ago when I arrived. Something’s sticking with me.
“Were you on the phone at all?” I ask. “When I arrived?”
Smiling, he shakes his head. “No. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you did.”
He drops a kiss to my cheek. “Get used to it, cupcake. Your fiancé is full of surprises.”
He sure is.
15
MY DARLING FIANCÉ
Elodie
There’s no time to linger in this fizzy feeling over the next few days. We’ve got a pop-up shop to open. Kenji’s handling Elodie’s Chocolates in the mornings so Gage and I can deal with all the things from our business license to glassware and plates, to décor, and now to signage.
We’ve been spending Thursday afternoon in Loretta’s Signs off Webster Street, picking out option after endless option to adorn the glass facade.
“I think you’ll like this one. I’m pretty damn pleased with it,” Loretta says in a gravelly voice like a country singer that fits her name. She fits the vibe too, all big hair and a checked boobalicious shirt with rhinestone buttons. She spins the tablet screen around, showing us a Special Edition: Cocktails & Chocolate mock-up in bright, vibrant neon pink. “Looks like neon. But made with LED. Perfect, since neon’s making a comeback. Something I can never say about my ex-husband.”
I laugh. Yup, pure country. “Well, neon deserves it. I am obsessed with neon and this,” I say, then turn to Gage. “What about you?”
He studies the screen with an unreadable expression. “I like it,” he says, but he couldn’t have less emotion if he tried.
I swat his arm, like a fiancée would do. “You don’t have to be obsessed with it but you can’t deny it’s amazing.” Where is his exuberance? This script, this color, this look. “It’s sexy and inviting. It’s fun and pretty. It’s beckoning.”
Could I pitch him any harder?
“Sure.” It’s not as if he doesn’t care. It’s as if he won’t give an inch.
Perhaps sensing she needs to give us space, Loretta offers a professional smile. “Why don’t you two lovebirds talk about it? You let me know if there are any problems.”
She slips into the back of the store, creaking the door shut, and I tug him away from the counter. Maybe this is a negotiation tactic, this whole overthinking side of him. “Are you playing hardball?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s perfect,” he says, and I don’t hear worry in his tone. I hear drive. A relentless desire to make something the best.
“What would make it more perfect?”
He scratches his stubble, then blows out a breath. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. My gut says we can do better, Elodie. This whole shop has got to be not just a home run but a grand slam. I’m not getting that second location from Celeste unless this is a grand slam.”
Ohhhh.
Sure, I have a lot riding on this shop too. But I feel like I’m running a marathon, and perhaps he feels like he has only one shot in a sprint. I do my best to keep my voice open-minded, welcoming. I don’t want to be the difficult business partner. “What do you think we should do differently?”
“It’s too bright. The pink is just too bright.”
I smile. That’s easy. “We’ll make it a little less pink. A touch of subtlety.”
All at once, his shoulders relax. His jaw seems less tight. “That’s a good idea.”
We call Loretta back and give her a few tweaks. A minute later, she swivels the screen around, showing us the new mock-up. Her eyes say it’s a beaut, but her mouth is silent since she’s letting Gage lead. A businesswoman who knows how to read a room.
He nods a few times, seemingly satisfied. “Perfect,” he says, a smile finally tipping his lips.
I’m so relieved.
“We’ll deliver the sign next week. And I can’t wait to come to your opening. I can’t think of anything better than cocktails and chocolate. Are you gonna have swag though?”
A line digs into Gage’s forehead. “Good question. Let me give that some thought.”
Great. Something new for him to obsess over when I want him to enjoy this pop-up shop like I am. “Maybe! Thanks again for the hard work,” I say to her brightly as I guide him out of the store.
“Do we need swag? I hate swag,” he mutters once the door clicks shut.
“Of course you hate swag,” I say, as we head toward Fillmore.
“Why do you say of course I hate it?”
“Because swag is usually made of plastic. You said you were doing a beach cleanup with your kid over the weekend. I assume you picked up a lot of plastic.”
“I did. I hate things.”
I laugh. “You have a little bit of grumpy bartender in you too.”