Chapter 31
Brody
Where is she? My eyes scan the faces on the crowded street.
I stand at the curb, hands in my jacket pockets, trying to settle my nerves. As much as I want to be a part of Georgia reaching her dreams…
I also respect that this is a sensitive subject. I get it now.
But I don’t know why she’s taking so long. She’s late, and mentally, I assume she’s either second-guessing herself or lost track of time. I’m hoping it’s the second, because when I last saw her at the penthouse, she’d been so excited, talking so fast that even Emmett had to tell her to slow down.
And that makes me smile to myself. Even if I’m worried.
I scan the block around me once more. It’s comprised of brick row houses, a sea of coffee shops and dry cleaners, and a yoga studio that used to be a synagogue. The foot traffic is solid, a blend of nannies pushing strollers, dog walkers, and tech guys sipping expensive lattes.
It’s perfect for the café.
But I have to let Georgia make that decision for herself.
The windows are floor-to-ceiling… And even dirtier than I remember from the online listing.
But the bones are good.
I can picture her thriving here with a sleek new logo, sidewalk seating, in an apron with her hair back, yelling orders at the staff and taking phone calls from produce vendors.
I finally see her, emerging from the side alley, bag slung over one shoulder and a binder clutched to her chest. She’s in jeans and a yellow tee and I immediately want to kiss her beautiful face.
“Hey,” I call out, and she turns, blue eyes brightening as they meet mine.
She jogs the last few steps. “Sorry. I totally got sidetracked at the hardware store.” She holds up a small brown bag. “Tape measure. You know, for measuring… things.”
“Good idea.” I smile, and she gives me a quick hug, planting a kiss on my cheek.
Georgia then turns to the building, visibly taking it in. “You ready?”
“Of course. After you, boss,” I say, and she grins, already fishing the realtor’s key out of her bag.
The old lock takes some effort, but she’s patient with it. The door groans open, and I wince, making a mental note of needing WD-40.
The air is a mix of ancient linoleum, cardboard, and cinnamon.
The space is mostly open, consisting of a big rectangle, thirty by eighty maybe, with a wall of glass and the weathered wood floors.
I expected her to linger, but she’s already moving through the place, talking to herself in half-sentences.
“Okay, I know it looks rougher than the pictures,” she starts, “but the light in the afternoon is incredible. Watch…” She walks to the window and points at the shadow line on the floor.
“See that? By three in the afternoon, this whole area will be golden. I’m thinking small tables here, by the window, with…
” Her voice trails off as she flips open her binder to a page of sketched layouts. “See? Two-tops and a few four-seaters.”
I lean in. “I like it. Let them feel like they have plenty of room, not packed in like sardines.”
“Exactly!” She claps her hands together, the wonder in her eyes reminding me of a child on Christmas.
Seeing her like this could get really fucking addictive.
She runs her fingers along the exposed brick, making a face at the dust that shows up. “We’ll need to seal this. Otherwise, it’s going to end up in the muffins. That’s got to be some kind of health code violation.”
I scan the ceiling. “Wiring’s a mess, but the joists are solid.”
She nods. “And the HVAC is only two years old! I had the inspector pull the model numbers. We just need to swap the filter.” Georgia eyes me in a way that has my heart skipping a beat, and I can’t tell if it’s just her energy or the fact that I’m so fucking in love with her.
She heads for the counter then, which is a long, battered chunk of wood.
“The service counter goes here. Pastry case? Coffee station just behind. And look,” she gestures at the back wall.
“That’s where the kitchen will be. Open concept, all glass, so people can see the magic. That’s what I was telling you guys!”
I whistle and then let out a chuckle. “Ambitious. You sure you want everyone to see the chaos of the kitchen?”
She shrugs. “If they don’t like it, they can look at their phones.” She’s smiling, but there’s tension in her jaw, like she expects me to push back.
But I don’t. Instead, I slip my arm around her waist and pull her in for a kiss. “I love your idea,” I reassure her. This is all about her, and that’s what I want.
We move through the rest of the space. The back corridor is narrow, barely wide enough for two, but Georgia’s already mapped out shelving for dry storage, a dumbwaiter for flour sacks, a walk-in freezer that she wants to buy used off Craigslist—which is totally not happening.
She finally stops at the tiny office, peering up at me while she measures.
“Does this feel too small?” she asks.
I step in, taking in the metal desk and an old safe built into the floor. “Depends. How many people would be in here at one time?”
She grins, giggling at me. “Just one really overqualified manager.” She glances at me, a flash of something warm and sweet in her gaze.
I reach up and brush the hair from her face. “You know it’s going to be great, right?”
“I hope so,” she says, voice almost a whisper. “I want it to be perfect, Brody. Not just for me. For everyone.”
“Then it will be.” I kiss her temple. “I know it.”
She gives me a look that makes my heart melt and then slips out of the office.
We loop back to the front. The sunlight is thicker now, warm and dappled, pooling on the worn floor.
Georgia slides down against the window, using an overturned milk crate as a makeshift bench. She sighs, looking out at the sidewalk.
I drop down beside her, letting my legs stretch out. For a second, we’re both just quiet, listening to the city.
She taps her binder on her knee. “I want to show you something.”
I nod. “Okay. What ya got?”
She cracks it open. The tabs are color-coded, the pages clean and precise.
“Business plan, version six,” she says, a nervous edge in her voice.
“I ran the numbers a hundred times. Even if I’m under on walk-in traffic, we break even in eight months.
” She turns to a page. “Here’s the initial capital outlay, the labor projections, the vendor lists.
I even factored in spoilage. Emmett said that’s the thing that kills most places, so I called a bunch of other bakeries to ask questions. ”
She flips to another page. “This is the loan application. I’m going through a local bank. Miles has a friend who can get me a good rate. The down payment’s a little steep, but the money from working on the yacht will be just enough.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to do a loan?”
She avoids my eyes now, hers staying fixed on the paper. “Yeah… I just want to do this the right way. You know, if I bust, I bust on my own. I’m not taking anyone down with me.”
There’s something raw in her voice, a pride edged with fear. I remember the first night on the boat, the way she moved cautiously and nervously. Now, she’s talking about six-figure loans and payroll taxes like it’s her native tongue.
But I get the feeling that the nerves are still there.
I pick up the binder and thumb through it, making a show of it but really just stalling to collect myself. This is a moment I know well, from a lifetime of pitch meetings and boardrooms and billion-dollar deals. But it’s never felt like this before.
“I know you don’t want me to give it to you,” I say, voice soft. “But you know I’d sign the check today. No questions asked.”
Georgia’s eyes flash. For a split second, I think she’s going to snap at me, but instead she just takes a long, measured breath.
“I know,” she says. “But I don’t want that.”
“Even if it’s because I think you deserve it?”
She shakes her head. “I want this to be mine. I want to know I did it. I need to. If I let you pay for it, it’ll always be your place, not mine.” She bites her lip, looking out the window again. “You understand, right?”
I do. But I still wish she’d let me give her the money.
But maybe there’s a middle ground…
I set the binder down gently between us. “What if I made you a deal?”
She narrows her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “I’m listening.”
“I’ll invest,” I say. “Silently. You keep controlling interest. Hell, keep ninety percent. But if you need a safety net, I’ll be there.” I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “It’s not about owning you, Georgia. It never was. I just want you to win.”
She stares at me for a long time, weighing the offer.
Finally, she sighs. “Twenty percent. You can have twenty, but I run everything. And if I say no to something, you have to accept it. Non-negotiable.”
I extend my hand. “Deal.”
She shakes it, her palm warm and dry, and for a second, everything around me melts away. We sit there, hands clasped, sunlight on our faces, the future mapped out in front of us.
And I fucking love how it looks.
Georgia blinks, and I realize suddenly there are tears in her eyes. “No one’s ever trusted me like this,” she says. “But you just… do.”
“You deserve to be treated like the amazing woman you are.” The words sound a little cliché, maybe. But I mean them.
She laughs and wipes her eyes. “I’m such a mess.”
I let go of her hand, then wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Nah. You’re the best damn thing in this neighborhood, and everyone’s about to find out.”
She leans her head against me, and for a minute, we sit, watching the city go by. When a kid on a scooter wipes out in front of the window, she winces, then laughs as the kid pops back up and takes off again.
“That’ll be us,” she says. “Falling on our asses and getting up again.”
“Long as there’s coffee and good sex, we’ll survive.”
Georgia gives the space one more look, her gaze tracing every imperfection. “I want to walk it one more time,” she says. “Come on.”
She stands, and I follow, watching as she moves through the light, arms spread like she’s already welcoming customers. She stops behind the future counter, pantomiming pouring coffee. “See?” she calls. “It’s perfect. I’ll make the espresso, you can… I don’t know, yell at the staff or something.”
“Boss people around?” I ask, feigning offense. “Never.”
She giggles, then moves to the kitchen area, tracing lines in the air. “The first thing I’m baking here is cinnamon rolls. Just for us.”
I imagine the smell, the warmth, the way she might fuss over a recipe for weeks before pronouncing it worthy. She’ll have funky art on the wall and maybe even a chalkboard sign with a daily special.
And I can’t help but love that idea. It’s so… Georgia.
We finish walk-through number two and head for the door then. She locks up and pulls her phone from her pocket.
“Wait,” she says. She snaps a picture of the facade, the old awning, the cracked sign.
I look at her. “You making a before and after?”
She peers up at me, a sweet smile tugging at her lips. “I’m making a forever. This is the start. The very first day.”
She tucks her arm in mine, and we start walking up the block. I can’t help glancing back over my shoulder, picturing what this place will look like in a year. In five.
“So,” I nudge her gently, “what are you going to call it?”
Georgia doesn’t hesitate a second. “Serendipity,” she says, grinning so hard her eyes crinkle. “Because that’s what it was. And because it’s where I found everything I never knew I was looking for.”
“That’s perfect,” I kiss the top of her head. Just perfect.