CHAPTER 13
LIFE REALIZATION #7: BEING SOMEONE’S INSPIRATION IS DANGEROUS
It had taken nearly an entire week, but early Friday morning, my phone, resting on an investment portfolio, vibrated with a text: Pen, this is Yolanda Fletcher. In a meeting. Will call later. Please prepare the necessary docs. We’re looking for a new planner.
I stared at my phone.
The Fletchers.
The Fletchers.
The freaking Fletchers!
All week, as I’d invested the funds from the twins’ property sale and exchanged emails with Erin, explaining my weird shared office space because, for some reason, she was interested, I waited. I was waiting for this moment, sure it wasn’t going to come. The Fletchers were worth dozens of smaller clients, and they’d surely bring other, bigger ones with them. And I’d be set, no longer scraping by. I’d go from trying to build my own business to having one, a solid one.
I fired off a text that was way too long and way too schmoozy and then danced around my office, too keyed up to remain at my desk.
As usual, I needed my bicycle, and I knew exactly where I was going to go. I grabbed my bag and headed to the bathroom to change.
Twenty-five minutes later, I was on my bike ride in an area someone had told me was a perfect riding spot on the outskirts of the city.
Okay, it was Grant.
Grant had told me about this spot, and he’d also told me he came here every Friday morning for a solo ride. No conversation. Just him, the wind, the trees, and Gaia, which I later realized was the name of his bicycle. Such a Grant thing to do.
I wasn’t here for him, though. I wasn’t.
I just wanted to experience the magic he’d said this place had after getting the good news about the Fletchers.
I probably wouldn’t see him anyway.
And . . . there he was.
I’d been on the trail, riding past moss-covered tree trunks and quaint wrought iron benches, for three minutes. And there he was.
I rode past him, hoping he’d be too preoccupied in his meditation, or whatever he’d said he did here, to notice.
The thing was, we were fading into friendship. At least, we had been until the silly dance-off a week ago. And now I wasn’t sure which of us was keeping distance.
Several moments elapsed after I rode past him. Then I heard my name and the sound of approaching tires.
He came up beside me. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” Beautifully evaded.
“I thought I told you. I come here every Friday morning.”
“Oh right. I couldn’t remember where I’d heard about this place.” No sense in him getting ideas.
He pointed to a clearing. “I usually meditate over there, but today ... you got five more miles in you?”
“Yeah. I’m just getting started.”
“Good. I want to show you something.”
Almost exactly five miles later, we pulled off the street and onto a long driveway that led to a—dump.
“Look.” He was smiling like I should be excited by this eyesore. “I bought it off a pair of twins who inherited it. They couldn’t believe I wanted it, and I couldn’t believe they were letting it go.”
“Why did you want it?” It was an enormous space, but that was about all it had going for it. The pale-gray paint was chipping, pieces of the house were literally in active free fall, the house equivalent of a person on their deathbed. If it sneezed, the whole structure would simply disintegrate. “Wait. Did you say twins?”
He dismounted his bicycle. “Yes, and this is my new project, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?”
He smiled again and pulled a bag from a compartment on his bicycle, held it out to me. “Want some trail mix?” We stared ahead like this was a horror movie, and I waited for the zombies to amble out from behind the tall grass as I reached in and grabbed a handful. He had a talent for trail mix, but it was missing something. “Have you ever thought about adding Cap’n Crunch to this?”
He snapped and pointed at me. “That’s it! Captain Crunch!”
I nodded, excited he agreed. “It’s Cap’n. Would be perfect, wouldn’t it?”
“Absolutely not. It would ruin my special blend. Do you know what that stuff’s made of? Anyway, I just realized that’s what you smell like. Lavender and Captain Crunch. Do they make lavender Captain Crunch?”
My mouth fell open in disbelief. “It’s Cap’n, and what is wrong with you?”
“Why do people keep asking me that?”
“Because it’s the logical question any sane person asks when they’ve spent more than five minutes with you.”
“I’m strange because I have good taste?”
“You’re strange because you don’t want to put Cap’n Crunch in your silly trail mix. And you buy junk property. Just when I was starting to think we could be friends.”
“I haven’t told you what I’m going to do with the property.”
“Or how I’m responsible. By all means.” I extended a hand in invitation.
“This is the future home of Deanna’s bed and breakfast.”
An almond flew out of my mouth. I looked from him to the heap, back to him. “Has Deanna seen this place?”
He shook his head. “And I’m trusting you not to tell her about it. I want it to be a surprise, her Christmas present, if I can get it done by then, and I’m going to get it done by then.”
“But it’s . . .”
“Incredible? I know. They start work on this place Monday morning. I’d take you in to show you, but we’d need hard hats.” He put his hand on my arm. “Trust me.”
My body did this Jell-O-y thing because of his touch, his words, because of what he was doing for his sister. And even though I couldn’t envision what he obviously could, I did trust him.
“I distinctly remember you discouraging entrepreneurship when I first met you.”
I needed his hand off me. Why was he still touching me?
“Me? Never. You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“Right. That must’ve been the other arrogant guy with the mustache.”
His hand dropped. Thank you. We were silent for several minutes as we stood side by side and stared at Deanna’s B and B. “You’re really building your sister her own space, her own business?”
“Because of you. You inspired me. And you’ve been good for Deanna. She’s a strong woman, but after meeting you, it’s like something’s lit up in her. Seeing what you’re doing made her feel like it was possible. I don’t think I took her seriously. You did.”
Warmth spiraled down to my belly and then infiltrated the rest of my body, like getting in a hot tub. Hot tub. Grant in a hot tub.
Hot Tub Grant looked at me.
The same silent conversation passed between us that had when he was holding Gloria, the chicken, and I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. Except that something felt like it was blooming in my chest.
And since I couldn’t process my own feelings, I did what I’d done that day: I got back on my bicycle and rode away from him.
Within seconds, he passed me and gloated as he went by.
My legs moved like pistons as I tried to catch back up. I was going too fast. One second, my wheels were on the ground, my body on my bicycle; the next, I was in the air, and then ...