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“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.”
He arches a brow my way. “And you’re the upbeat, sassy chocolatier.”
I give a half-twirl, my skirt swinging playfully, Marilyn Monroe style. “Deal with it,” I say, then poke him in the side. “You’ve got yourself an exuberant business partner.”
“I sure do,” he says.
A sliver of doubt digs into me as we near a romance is in the air window display of pink and red and purple paperbacks with cartoon couples at An Open Book. Is he saying my go-for-it attitude is a bad thing? I kind of hoped he’d balance me out. “Look, I’ve always been excited about things, chances, opportunities. But are you worried that we’re being too impulsive?”
“I am definitely worried, but I’m doing it anyway.” His tone is surprisingly raw and I appreciate the honesty so much.
I curl a hand around his biceps, nice and sturdy. “We’re doing it. And I am going to do everything I can to make it work,” I say, wanting him to feel some of my optimism.
His eyes meet mine. “I can tell you want it to work. That means a lot to me,” he says, holding my gaze and speaking from the heart. Both make my stomach flip. Both make my chest tingle too.
