Chapter 18 Sloane
SLOANE
The thing about rock bottom is that it’s kind of freeing.
I’m lying on Riley’s couch three days after Thanksgiving, still in my pajamas at two in the afternoon, eating Lucky Charms straight from the box because I’ve given up on pretending to be a functional adult.
My phone keeps buzzing. Mom calling. Again.
I silence it. Again. She’s called a million times since Thursday.
Left unknown amounts of voicemails I haven’t listened to.
Sent texts ranging from ‘We need to talk’ to ‘You’re being childish’ to ‘Your father is very upset.’
Good. Let him be upset. Let them both be upset. I’m done caring about their feelings when they clearly don’t give a shit about mine.
“You’re spiraling,” Riley observes from the kitchen.
“I’m processing.”
“You’re eating Lucky Charms in yesterday’s pajamas while glaring at your phone like it personally offended you.”
“The phone is innocent. It’s the people calling it that are the problem,” I say, shoving another handful of charms into my mouth.
She brings me coffee, which I accept gratefully. “Have you talked to Jax?”
“We’ve texted.”
“Texted?” She glares at me.
I nod.
She sighs. “Sloane …”
“I know, okay? I know I’m being a coward. But I just ... I need a minute. That Thanksgiving disaster really fucked me up.”
“I know it did.” She sits beside me, stealing a handful of my cereal. “But hiding from everyone isn’t the answer.”
“I’m not hiding from everyone. I’m hiding from my parents. There’s a difference.”
“And Jax?”
“I’m not hiding from Jax. I’m just keeping things light until I figure my shit out.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Terribly.” I shove more cereal in my mouth. “He keeps sending me chicken updates and being perfect, and I keep responding with emojis like an emotionally stunted teenager.”
My phone buzzes. Not Mom this time.
JAX: Crisis. The rooster has been dethroned. There’s been a coup.
Despite everything, I smile.
SLOANE: Democracy in action.
JAX: More like anarchy. The chickens have elected a new leader. She’s power-hungry and ruthless.
SLOANE: Sounds like she’ll do great things.
JAX: She’s already implementing new policies. Longer mealtimes. Mandatory naps. No early wake-up calls.
SLOANE: I like her already.
JAX: How are you doing? Really?
There it is. The question I keep dodging.
SLOANE: I’m okay. Still processing Thanksgiving.
JAX: That’s understandable. Take all the time you need. But Sloane?
SLOANE: Yeah?
JAX: I’m here. No pressure. Just here.
My chest aches, he’s so fricken perfect.
SLOANE: Thank you.
I set my phone down, and Riley is watching me with that look.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just watching you fall more in love with him every time you text.”
“I’m not …”
“You are. And that’s okay. But at some point, you’re going to have to do something about it instead of just texting him about chickens.”
“I like the chicken updates,” I argue.
“We all do. But, babe, you can’t live in this limbo forever. At some point, you need to make a decision.”
“I’m not ready to make decisions. I just had the worst Thanksgiving of my life. I’m unemployed, living in your guest room, and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.”
“So, figure it out.” Riley steals more cereal. “What do you want? Not what you think you should want.”
“I want ...” I trail off, thinking. “I want to not feel lost anymore.”
“Okay. So, let’s start there. Where do you want to live?”
I pause, look at her, then down at my phone. “I don’t know.”
Riley’s brows pull together. “Let’s try, do you still want to work in marketing?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, nothing corporate. Something ... creative maybe.”
Riley smiles. “There you go, that’s your first decision made.”
I stare at her, confused.
“You just said you don’t want to work in a corporate environment, you want to try maybe working in a creative one,” she explains.
“And what the hell does that mean?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I don’t know, you said it. What do you think it means?”
“You sound like my therapist,” I grumble.
“She's pretty awesome so I’ll take it.” She grins. Riley stands, grabbing my laptop from the coffee table. “Come on. Let’s look. Maybe seeing options will help. I’m a visual person too.”
“I’ve been looking for weeks. It’s all the same.” I moan.
“Then maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.” She opens the laptop and starts typing. “What if you didn’t look for jobs? What if you looked for, I don’t know, businesses? Something you could run yourself?”
Being the doomsdayer that I am, I grumble. “I don’t have money to start a business.”
“Not start. Buy. There are always small businesses for sale. Coffee shops, bookstores, that kind of thing.” She’s scrolling now. “See? Look at all these listings.”
I lean over, mostly to humor her. And that’s when I see it.
Charming Gift Shop & Coffee House - Established Business for Sale -Silver Valley.
The thumbnail shows a cute storefront with big windows and window boxes filled with flowers. Warm lighting inside. Cozy.
“Stop,” I tell her.
“Cute,” Riley says, clicking on it.
The listing loads, and my heart stops. Because the location isn’t Denver. It’s Silver Valley. Jax’s town.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
The listing shows more photos. Inside is even better than outside.
Exposed brick walls. Vintage shelving. A small coffee bar in the corner with an espresso machine.
Display tables with local crafts and gifts.
A fireplace. String lights. It’s perfect.
It’s exactly the kind of place I’d want to create. And it’s ten minutes from Jax’s farm.
“This is ...” I can’t finish the sentence.
Riley reads the description. “Established gift shop and coffee house in charming mountain town. Loyal customer base. Owner retiring after 20 years. Turn-key operation. Includes inventory, equipment, and building lease. Excellent opportunity for motivated buyer.” She looks at me. “Sloane. This sounds perfect.”
“It’s in Jax’s town.”
“Oh.” She chuckles, not realizing.
“That’s ... I can’t ... that’s too much,” I argue with her.
“Why? It looks perfect.”
“Because …” I’m gesturing wildly now. “Wouldn’t that be stalkerish? Creepy. Buying a business in his town,” I ask her.
“Or,” Riley says calmly, “you’ve found something that excites you for the first time in years. The fact that it happens to be near a guy you have feelings for is just a bonus.”
Is it that simple? I stare at the listing.
At the cozy interior. At the town square, visible through the windows.
At the life I could build there. My marketing brain is already spinning.
I could rebrand it. Update the inventory.
Create an online presence. Do local partnerships.
Events. Make it a community hub. I could do this. I could actually do this.
“This is a crazy idea,” I whisper.
“The best things usually are.” Riley squeezes my shoulder. “Just think about it. Save the listing. Look at it. Let it simmer.”
I save it. And then I can’t stop looking at it.
That night, I’m still looking at the listing when Maggie stops by.
“Hey,” she says, plopping down on the couch beside me. “How are you holding up?”
“Better. Still ignoring Mom’s calls,” I tell her.
She nods. “She’s called me about fifteen times asking me to talk to you,” she tells me, groaning.
“Are you going to?”
“I’m here.” She nudges me with her shoulder, giving me a smirk. “But I’m not here to talk you into calling her back. I’m here to check on you.”
“I’m fine. Really. Just trying to figure shit out.”
“Aren’t we all.” She sighs, leaning her head back. “I’ve been thinking a lot since Thursday. About family. About expectations. About the life I’m living versus the life I want.”
Oh wow. Really? I always thought Maggie had her shit figured out. She always knew what she wanted to do with her life, she’s had it mapped out since we were teens.
“I hate being a lawyer,” she confesses, which is shocking.
I turn to stare at her. “What?”
“I hate it,” she says simply, so matter-of-factly. “I’ve hated it for years. But I wanted to be the perfect daughter. The one who did everything right. Got the degrees, got the high-paying job, made Mom and Dad proud. And I’ve been miserable the entire time.”
I had no idea. Now I feel horrible for mopping when she’s been feeling like this. “Maggie ...”
“I’m burned out. I hate the hours. I hate the work.
I hate the person I must be in that office.
” She looks at me. “And watching you walk away from your life on Thursday, it made me realize I need to do the same thing. I need to figure out what I want instead of just living up to everyone else’s expectations. ”
This is HUGE. We sit in silence for a moment.
“I found something,” I say quietly. “A business listing. A gift shop and coffee house.” I show her my laptop. “It’s in Jax’s town.”
She looks at the photos, scrolling through slowly. Then her face lights up. “Sloane, this is perfect. This is exactly the kind of thing you should be doing.”
“You think? It’s a crazy idea, no?”
“Why?”
“Because I’d be moving to be near him. That’s insane, right? We barely know each other.”
“Do you want to move there because of him? Or because of this?” She gestures to the screen. “Because there’s a difference.”
I think about it. Really think about it.
“Both,” I admit. “I want this. I want to build something that’s mine. But I also want to be near him. I want to see where this goes. I want to stop being scared and just take the leap.”
“Then do it.”
“It’s too fast. Too impulsive,” I argue with her.
“Since when is knowing what you want impulsive?” Maggie asks. “You spent nine years with Chett trying to figure out what would make him happy. Maybe it’s time you figured out what makes you happy.” She needs to take some of her own advice too.
“This would make me happy,” I whisper, looking at the photos again. “This would make me really happy.”
“Then that’s your answer.”
I chew my lip. “I don’t have the money for this.”
“You have some savings, don’t you? And there are small business loans out there.” She pauses. “Or ... you could have a partner.”
“A partner?”
“Let me look into it.” She’s already pulling out her phone. “I’ll do some research. Look at the financials. See if it’s actually viable. Then you can decide.”
“Maggie, you don’t have to,” I tell her, not while she is going through her own internal crisis.
“I want to. Please. Let me do this. Let me help. I need something else to concentrate on.”
There’s something in her voice. Something almost desperate. “Okay,” I say slowly. “If you want to look into it, go ahead.”
She smiles, and it’s the first real smile I’ve seen from her in a long time.