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The restaurant is bustling by the time I arrive, but the private room in back is still fairly empty. That’s good. I have never understood the notion of fashionably late, and as one of the employees, it’s better for me to be here before most of the guests, which are supposed to include family, friends, and investors. I’ll need a drink for this.
Although I can talk to anyone, a little liquid courage seems to help the words flow. I check my coat and bag with the attendant and head to the bar. The only complimentary options are beer and wine, understandable since a fledgling business has to watch expenses, and while I don’t mind springing for the whiskey I really want, that might make the words flow too easily. I choose a red wine and move to the side to see if there’s a familiar face in the room. No sooner do I spot Simon in the far corner than I hear someone shriek my name.
“Lisa, over here.” Jen bursts through the door and engulfs me in a hug. “I haven’t seen you at the gym in forever; is Charlie keeping you that busy?”
I return the hug, grateful for the familiar face, though I’m surprised to see my friend. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight!”
“If you ever came to Pilates class anymore, you’d have known,” Jen scolds. “Where have you been? And what have you been doing? That dress looks great on you.”
I look down at the cream dress that belts at the waist and flares downward, just brushing the tops of my knees. “It’s not too much? I know they say you can wear white anytime, so I figured that went for cream also, but everyone else is in black or navy.”
“No, it’s perfect,” says Jen. “So, where have you been, really? Are you ever coming back to class?”
“Yes, as soon as I get into a good rhythm. Things are moving, and this has started to take up more of my time than I expected, which is great. I love it. But I haven’t figured out how to balance everything yet. I miss class, though. I’m spending more and more time in an office chair and my back is not happy about it, so I could use some stretching. But enough about me. What are you doing here?”
“Investors get to come to the kickoff, too.” Jen smiles.
“Investors? You’re an investor?”
“Yep. Sent my check in last week.”
“That’s…that’s great! I didn’t know you were considering an investment when you told me about Charlie.”
“I wasn’t. Or I was, but I didn’t think I could.” Jen steers me back to the bar, so she can get a drink. “But I inherited some money from my aunt, and she always had a thing for kids and education, so I thought it’d be a nice way to honor her. Plus, as a teacher, I really like the idea. I also bought a house.”
“A house? You’re moving?”
“No. Sawyer and I are happy where we are. It’s an investment property. I’m going to fix it up and sell it.”
“You’re flipping a house?” I blink. “Do you know anything about flipping houses?”
“Not a thing!” Jen exclaims, a goofy smile on her face. “Well, I mean, I know a lot about house maintenance and repairs, but not flipping. But I love those home shows, and I always thought it would be fun to completely tear something apart and put it back together.”
She’s practically glowing, so even though I’m partially terrified about this impulse, I’m happy for her.
“How are you going to put a house together if you have no idea what you’re doing?” I frown.
“I’ll hire someone, obviously. The idea is to make money, not waste it trying to do stuff I don’t know how to do. But I’ll get to help design floor plans, pick materials, stuff like that. The fun stuff.”
“Well, you seem really excited about it, so I’m happy for you.” I give her hand a squeeze.
“I am excited. Now I just need to find a contractor.” Jen sips her wine and surveys the room, coming to a dead stop when she catches sight of the door. “What happened to Charlie?”
I glance toward the door and freeze myself as I catch sight of Chris. He’s wearing a plaid button-down of sophisticated browns and blues on a cream background, tucked into dark jeans that accentuate his lean waist. His sandy hair looks just a tad longer than it was when I’d seen him last, and as per usual, it’s just slightly unkept. He has the slightest bit of scruff around his jaw, almost as if in rebellion to the “professional” tone of the evening.
“That’s not Charlie. That’s Chris, his brother.”
“Wow,” Jen mouths as she turns to me.
“You didn’t know Charlie had a brother?” I gape.
“Not one who looked like that,” she replies. “Do you see him around the office?”
“Sometimes. He’s not part of the company, though.”
“Is he a contractor? He looks like a contractor.” She studies him.
I laugh. “No, I think he does something with real estate. He might know a contractor.”
