Zoey pulls back, swiping at her eyes with a laugh. Over her shoulder, I see Big Mike watching us awkwardly, swirling his drink while Delaney is practically dancing by the pastry spread.
He clears his throat, sensing the moment. “I’ll give you two a moment. Delaney, let’s go check on those production numbers.”
Delaney winks at me before following him out. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving us alone in the quiet, luxurious box.
Zoey steps back, still holding the envelope like it’s made of glass. She goes to open it, but closes her eyes for a moment too long.
“Look.” She gestures to the table where the white box lays open. “This is the prototype Delaney's come up with. Isn't it beautiful?”
Following along with the clear attempt at prolonging whatever it is she has to say, I pick up the sage-green sleeve holding one of Zoey's creations.
The pastry smells incredible, of course, but the packaging… It’s sturdy, elegant. The Snow Leopards logo is stamped in gold on one side, the Butter Batch script on the other.
Inside, the twist is perfect, better than anything I ever made.
It's perfectly golden, buttery, and sparkling with sugar. The scent of cardamom and butter wraps around me, warm and comforting, like I'm back in the kitchen of my apartment, desperate to make this recipe work for Zoey while still dreaming about getting back out on the ice for myself.
And now, it's all happened at once. In the same fucking day.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it.
“It’s real.” She’s pacing now, her boots tapping softly on the plush rug. “They want to start with dedicated kiosks here at The Den, but the offer… Colt, the offer—"
She pauses again, gripping that damn envelope.
I step in closer. "Zoey. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
She smiles nervously, then releases an enormous sigh that ends on a relieved smile.
“It’s the whole dream, Colt. The one I packed away when Morgan was born.”
Her face is lit up from within, all her usual stress and armour stripped away. She looks like the woman I pictured whenever I read her notebook, standing here like this. The one with the big, bold plans, the one who believed she could build an empire.
I want to freeze this moment. Bottle it and keep her exactly like this, forever.
"I knew you could do it, Zoey. You just needed reminding of how incredible—"
But her face has fallen into a frown. She's shaking her head, looking back down at the paper in her hands.
“But—”
“What?”
She points to a paragraph near the bottom. “There’s a condition.”
I step closer, so close I can smell the scent of her shampoo. My shoulder brushes hers as I lean in to read.
The investor group requests that, pending successful partnership, eventual headquarters and full relocation of bakery operations be conducted from their primary location.
The words blur. Then sharpen into focus.
Relocation.
My stomach drops.
“You need to relocate?”
“Big Mike said it’s just a meeting to begin with,” she says quickly, her eyes darting to mine. “But if it goes well… I guess… they want the headquarters to be central. It would mean…”
