Chapter 7 #4
Infectious joy filled the air in the tiny little shop, and even Rachel’s tumultuous inner state wasn’t immune to it.
The rich aroma of chocolate pervaded every molecule of air, and people stood shoulder to shoulder around displays, trying samples and chatting with store clerks dressed in red aprons and heart-shaped hats.
There were bags of red foil hearts all over the place.
A small sign in front of a tray of samples read, Try our new espresso toffee hearts, and Rachel almost snagged one.
It was like falling into the Willy Wonka factory, minus the creep factor.
“Rachel?” Someone called out her name from where three cashiers were ringing up sales. Ignoring a couple of barely disguised glares, she made her way to the front of the line, where she saw Boyce Armistead. They’d Zoomed a few times, so she was certain it was him.
“Hello!”
He motioned for her to lean in.
“I heard you met Randy,” he said softly, his voice deep and infused with mirth. He sat behind the counter, working on a laptop identical to Rachel’s.
“I–”
“It’s okay. My mother is in the conference room. I’m sorry that’s how you had to be introduced to our town. Sometimes love goes a little too far in ‘Love You, Maine, where every day is Valentine’s Day’–especially for old Randy.”
Suppressing a snicker, she winced. “It’s really ridiculous, isn’t it? But I guess it’s part of the charm,” she added, trying to be smooth as more customers crowded into the already full shop.
“If you say so.” He sounded skeptical. “Anyway, nice to finally meet you in person, Rachel,” he said, holding out his hand for a shake. “Zoom just isn’t the same.”
“No, it isn’t. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Listen,” he said quietly. Rachel had to strain to hear him above all the chatter around them.
“Before you meet my mother, I want to make sure you understand that a hard sell would be the worst possible way to approach this. She’s eighty-eight years old, and this company was her and Dad’s baby.
It means so much to her. The chocolates are first-class and she’s a stickler for consistency. Some might call her old-fashioned.”
“Do you?” Looking around pointedly, she made her meaning clear: If Lucinda was old-fashioned, it was working for her.
“Sure. But there’s something to be said for that.”
“Sounds like quality is important to her.”
“It is.”
“That’s part of what drew Markstone's to your company, Boyce. Quality. Consistency. Customer service. But also, caring. Small town values like you see here in Love You, Maine, should be more common. They aren’t.
They’re special, and Markstone's wants to be able to offer more of your brand of special to the world.”
He sized her up. “You’re good.” The way he drew out the last word made it impossible to tell whether that was a compliment or an insult.
“I’m not good or bad, Boyce. I’m here to make sure you feel heard, and we make our case. No one’s going to push or pressure. No cajoling or flattery. Just good old-fashioned information so you can make the best decision possible.”
“I want to make the best deal possible. Love You Chocolate has given our family a decent living, but not a luxurious one. As Mom gets older, we want to make sure she’s well cared for in her final years.”
He turned to say something to the cashier on his right, who made quick eye contact and nodded.
“Boyce? Is she here? It’s 11:02,” a woman’s strong voice called out from somewhere down a hallway behind the checkout counter.
“Yes, Mom! It’s my fault. Rachel walked in at eleven on the dot.” He winked at her.
“Is she alone? I heard she glued herself to the Luview boy.”
Two cashiers burst into suppressed giggles.
“Which Luview boy, Mom? There are about twenty of them.”
“The poison ivy boy.”
“That would be Kell.”
Lucinda Armistead appeared suddenly, and when she turned the corner, recoiled slightly at Rachel’s presence.
In spite of her age, her shoulders were square; her long white hair was rolled into a bun, with not a single strand out of place.
Bright blue eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles added to an imperious air.
She was, of course, dressed entirely in red, with small pearls in her ears.
Lucinda glanced around the shop, and the look on her face was one Rachel recognized instantly: pride. The Armisteads were deeply proud of their success, and they should be.
“Rachel, I presume? Pardon my manners. Gossip is currency in a small town like this, and I am not immune to it.” The hand she offered was dry as a sun-bleached bone, but the grip was strong.
Rachel returned it.
“If it hadn’t happened to me, I’d be joking about it, too,” Rachel said, using one of her father’s business tips: When in doubt, self-deprecate.
She pushed aside the rest of his comment, which was always: Then again, I never have to, because I’m never in doubt.
Doubt was certainly in the air after what Boyce had just said. Numbers weren’t going to cut it. Rachel would have to use a rusty asset from her toolbox:
Charm.
“Let’s talk in a room a bit more suited for conversation,” Lucinda said in a voice that indicated Rachel was meant to acknowledge the bustling store.
“Of course. I’m sorry my timing is right in the middle of your busiest time.”
“That wasn’t coincidental, though, was it, dear? I’m sure Markstone's wants eyes on how well we’re doing.”
Rachel let a wink slip, eliciting laughter from the old woman.
Smiles were exchanged all around, and Boyce led them down the hall to a small conference room. It was no bigger than most dorm rooms, but with a picture window looking over a beautiful hazy lake, steam rising from the waters.
“Ah. The famous Love You Springs.”
“Your mother called it Love You Springs Eternal,” Lucinda said with a twitchy smile.
“You’ve done your homework on me.”
“No, dear. I ran into Deanna at the stationery store. We exchanged a few words.”
“I see there’s no need for the internet in Love You, Maine,” Rachel joked. “You’re all faster than any fiber optic or 5G network.”
Lucinda sniffed. “I don’t know what that means, but I do know there’s no one who runs faster than Nadine with hot gossip to dish about, and Deanna is a close second.”
Resisting the urge to pull out her laptop, hook up to the projector in the middle of the table, and get her deck going for the presentation, she knew the chit-chat was as much a part of the deal as the actual signed contracts would be.
Every negotiation had its own pace, one that had to be handled second by second. Emotional tone mattered.
People mattered.
That’s one part of acquisitions that her boss’s boss, Doug, never understood. He only cared about the bottom line. People selling small businesses cared about their communities. Their blood, sweat, and tears.
Their legacies.
Sure, they wanted profits. No one built a small business from the ground up with the eventual goal of wanting it to fall into ruin and become nothing financially.
More than that, though, people in small towns were connected to each other by tight networks.
Upsetting those networks meant changing everyone’s life, from a ripple to an earthquake.
Jobs could be lost, retail space could go unrented, and entire ways of life could change for the better–or for the worse.
This was part of the reason her last two negotiations had gone poorly. Deep in her heart, she knew that the outcome for the preservative-free keto chocolate company in Billings, Montana, would be a dismantling.
And the teeny female-veteran-owned salt caramel company outside of Creighton, Pennsylvania, was going to become just a fulfillment center for Markstone's.
Her heart hadn’t been in those deals, and both had turned the offers down, deciding instead to focus on online sales.
Orla had been disappointed, but Doug had been furious.
And blunt. Close the Armistead deal in Maine or be fired.
Fortunately, this deal was a good one. Markstone's really did plan to keep all the employees, and add thirty to forty new ones. They wanted to expand the factory, and Rachel had quietly looked into land nearby that could work.
The Armisteads didn’t know about that part, but over time, it would be fine. Markstone's planned to invest in Love You, Maine.
Not strip the profits and run.
“I assume you need a dongle for your deck?” Boyce asked, sliding one across the conference table. So much for pacing.
Time for business.
“I have one, actually, but thank you,” she said with a smile. Lucinda took a seat at the head of the table, Boyce to her right. Both were more relaxed than she expected, which really helped.
In under a minute, she had her deck on screen, Dani’s design flawless.
All the prep work, all the travel, the car breaking down, the superglue incident with Kell, Randy the lovesick moose, Satan the squirrel, and the now-dry coffee on her pants–it all faded away as Rachel went into her earnest selling mode.
She focused on the family’s history with Love You Chocolate. How Donald Armistead had decided to try using some of the spring water to improve the product and prop up his flagging chocolate company.
Water ruins chocolate, so it was just a drop. Enough to make for perfect marketing.
How Lucinda had the idea for the red foil, and heart-shaped molds.
How they started from their family kitchen, then rented the firehouse’s commercial kitchen, finally moving to a small storefront in 1969.
The expansion since then, how nearly every high school student in town had passed through Love You Chocolate as a seasonal employee, and their community roots and support.
As Rachel recounted it all, a nostalgic smile floated across Lucinda’s lips, but Boyce became more and more somber. Perhaps it was a kind of death, selling a business you built from scratch.
And perhaps watching your eighty-eight-year-old mother do so was like acknowledging mortality.
Not just in business, either.