10. Zara
ZARA
I sketch on my iPad three different design options for the potential expansion of Picnic & Treats.
The winning design will depend on several factors—one being Mr. Cartwright’s approval.
If there’s even the opportunity to lease the space, that is.
And I need to get renovation quotes from Troy. I’ll ask him tonight.
I wiggle my butt on the staff-room couch, doing what I can to relieve the growing ache in my hips and the base of my spine. Doing what I can to distract myself from the fact I got dumped last night by a boyfriend who was still in love with his ex-wife.
When that doesn’t work, I stand and walk around the room. That does the trick. For the ache.
I frown at the seemingly offending couch as if it was the one that dumped me. It’s only a few years old. It shouldn’t need replacing yet. No one else has complained it’s uncomfortable. Just the opposite.
The staff-room door opens, and Keshia walks in. She throws me a sympathetic smile. The same smile she’s been giving me every time she sees me, ever since this morning after I told her what happened last night.
“Boring and an idiot,” she mutters to herself, as if I’m not in the room. She puts a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table. “Figured you could use this.”
A smooth chuckle rolls from between my lips. “I guess you were right about him being boring. I just didn’t want to see it. And thank you for the hot chocolate.” My favorite comfort drink.
“And what about how he is an idiot?” She lifts her eyebrows in an encouraging question.
“Yep. He’s definitely that too.” I return to the couch, sit, and take a sip of the hot chocolate. It’s Mimi’s recipe. And pure magic.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Come in,” I call out, putting the mug on the coffee table.
The door opens once more, and Mr. Cartwright strolls in, smiling. “Hello, Zara. Keshia. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would tell you the news in person.”
My heart stammers at his words, then screeches to a halt in anticipation of his next ones.
“Hey, Mr. Cartwright.” Keshia shares a glance between my former teacher and me. “I have to get back to the kitchen. Let me know if you need anything.”
After he tells her he’s good, she hurries off, leaving me to mentally kick-start my heart again.
“The sisters won’t be renewing Mountain Lore’s lease,” he tells me, jumping right to it. “So I’m officially looking for a new tenant to take over the space.”
Yes. I somehow keep my arms from shooting up in a praise-the-Lord gesture.
“Will your proposal be ready by Tuesday? Wednesday at the latest?”
I nod, trying to keep from betraying how fast my excited heart is thumping. “Yes. Tuesday will be fine.”
“Sounds good. Would it work for you if I came over around, say, three, to discuss your proposal?”
When I’d originally approached Mr. Cartwright about opening Picnic & Treats, there hadn’t been any competing bids for the retail space.
Which had been a good thing. I didn’t know much at the time about running a café.
I didn’t have a business degree. I had a chemistry degree— because at one point I’d thought I would follow in my father’s and oldest brother’s footsteps and become a physician.
But then I changed my mind after spending the summer with Mimi in New Orleans. I saw how good food, comfort food, makes people happy. And as much as I loved science, the idea of dealing with the frustrations of the medical system didn’t appeal to me.
My business skills have grown since I opened Picnic & Treats, like bread dough in a hot, humid oven. And Mr. Cartwright is a regular customer, frequenting the café often enough to know I’m good at what I do. That must count for something.
“I look forward to hearing what you have in mind for the place,” Mr. Cartwright says, smiling. “I want to see what you plan to do with the space before I make a decision of leasing it to you or leasing it to another potential business in Maple Ridge.”
“Is it possible to send me the floor plans for next door so I can show them to Troy?” Troy was also a student of his, so Mr. Cartwright knows about Troy’s successful construction business.
“I can drop a copy off tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
“Thank you!”
He leaves, and I check the time. Two more hours until I told Garrett I would show up at his house. Two more hours until I find out what he needs to talk to me about.
And yes—I am curious what he has to tell me.
More than likely, his text was nothing more than a ploy to get me to help him with the Game Night snacks.
This wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.
I doubt he’s heard yet the news about Joseph, and that’s why he wants to talk to me.
Or maybe he has.
Maybe he wants me to come over earlier so he can tell me that he told me so, he always thought something was off about Joseph.