Chapter 5
chapter 5
With one arm, Naomi hugged her sketchbook into her side as Cynthia Kumar approached, smelling of expensive perfume and looking like she had the bazaar’s contract in the bag.
Which she probably did. Cynthia’s dad was somewhat of a business mogul in the South Asian community in Kelowna and the surrounding area, and Cynthia had lived here for most of her life. Naomi had met her in the British Columbia Institute of Technology’s marketing management program, where Cynthia, at every possible opportunity, had assured everyone that she would have a long list of clients waiting for her once her diploma was tucked in her pocket. So persistent was she in reminding her classmates of her guaranteed success in the industry, she might as well have lifted her leg and marked her territory on every South Asian business owner in watering distance.
And here she was in Gia’s Bazaar, undoubtedly with a bladder full of entitlement. “Cynthia!” The disappointment over her first matchmaking attempt was long gone as Gia beamed at the second brand consultant.
“Auntie!” Cynthia sang back. She adjusted the strap of her suede purse before pressing her palms together. “Namashkar.”
Gia let out a delighted laugh. “Someone’s been practicing.”
Cynthia threw Naomi a smug smile. “I may not be Bengali, but I know how important respect for your elders is.”
Gia arched her brow in Naomi’s direction. Strike one.
“Are these the only consultants we’ll be hearing from?” Aashi asked.
“Yes.” Gia nodded. “After you present your idea for my store, I’m going to deliberate with Aashi and Dev, and then we will let you know who is going to be the bazaar’s Brand Lady.”
“Me?” Dev asked. “You want me to be part of this?”
“Of course. You’re a businessman.”
“I’m an accountant.”
“A successful businessman,” Gia said, more to Cynthia, with a hopeful smile. From across the counter, Naomi detected a faint growl coming from Dev.
“Besides, Dev practically grew up here,” Gia added. “I’m sure he’s interested in the bazaar’s potential, too.”
“Nothing says potential like parking lot expansion,” he said under his breath.
Naomi inhaled sharply to trap the rebellious giggle climbing up her throat.
“Why don’t you go first, Cynthia,” Aashi suggested.
Naomi moved to stand beside Dev on the other side of the counter and hugged her sketchbook to her chest. Cynthia noticed the movement and a small, condescending smile flickered across her face. Since meeting Cynthia, Naomi had always maintained a carefully cultivated professionalism around her, but it was more of a shield than a gesture of civility. Especially of late, the industry was a shark tank, and Cynthia was in a league of her own. She was a barracuda, the kind that could take down a killer whale, never mind a minnow flexing its new fins for the first time.
Striding closer to the counter, Cynthia pulled a slim black tablet out of her bag. With a few taps of her polished nails, a program Naomi recognized from her college design courses appeared on screen. It was an expensive app sought after by interior designers, one that Naomi would love to purchase for herself. One day.
Cynthia’s voice reeked of self-assurance. “Auntie, with the way this neighborhood is going, you’re going to see a serious influx of young people with disposable income in this area. Now is the time to capitalize on that. Tourists and locals alike have money, and they want to spend it.”
Must be nice , Naomi thought dryly.
“People today want to experience authenticity. They want to connect to something bigger than them, to feel something real,” Cynthia continued. “Which is why you should transform your store into a yoga studio that caters to that demographic.” On the tablet, Cynthia pulled up a mock-up of the bazaar-turned-yoga-studio. She’d chosen a black-and-white color scheme with modern bamboo furniture and marble floors. It was like looking into a very rich person’s loft, complete with a waterfall wall.
“Imagine an authentic yoga experience for people who chase luxury and trends,” Cynthia explained. “A wholesome, soul-searching experience coupled with VIP treatment.”
Tilting her head to the side, Naomi kept her face blank as Cynthia scrolled through color swatches, imported indoor flora, and potential theme nights. They weren’t bad ideas—in fact, it would probably be a lucrative option for Gia’s Bazaar—but she couldn’t picture Gia in a space like that. It was so far away from anything currently in the bazaar, the polar opposite of Naomi’s proposal.
Gia’s, Aashi’s, and Dev’s faces gave very little away as they studied the images Cynthia was putting forward.
“Is that an LED chandelier?” Dev asked.
Cynthia nodded and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Ambience.”
“It’s certainly impressive,” Aashi said.
“Any questions?” Cynthia asked in a voice that challenged anyone to second-guess her expertise. It was the tone of someone who knew her place in the world, who never worried about tucking an extra ace up her sleeve. Cynthia oozed the kind of confidence Naomi had to constantly reach for, never sure if it would materialize when needed.
As if they were a group of well-rehearsed synchronized swimmers, the Mukherjees and Cynthia turned in unison to look at Naomi. Cynthia’s eyes flitted to her humble sketchbook, and she smirked.
“Whenever you’re ready, dear,” Aashi said kindly after a brief silence.
Naomi’s fingers itched to open her book, but she forced herself to draw a deep breath instead. She could feel Dev’s eyes transfixed on the side of her face, but for once his trademark intensity was kind of comforting; she’d underestimated the relationship-building power in being mistaken for someone’s future wife.
“My proposal is that we should turn this place into an Indian-style café,” she said. As soon as the words tumbled from her lips, Naomi felt that familiar rush of excitement and adrenaline. She might have been struggling to find work over the past month, but the rejection had not lessened her passion for her job in the slightest. It was this rush that had pushed her to strike out on her own, to do something that mattered for members of the community.
As she moved toward the store’s dusty, neglected aisles, she felt in control for the first time since she’d been introduced to the bazaar. The newfound calm was a heady rush and added a little spring in her step. She had this.
“I’m picturing a place that’s modern and earthy, but also bright in a way that reflects the rich culture. Wicker chairs, colorful cushions, low square tables,” Naomi said while reminding herself to slow down. Her feet had other ideas. Jogging toward the wall-to-wall window by the store’s entrance, Naomi turned to face her audience. “A long rectangular, family-style table could go here for larger groups wanting to meet over tea and sweets.”
Naomi returned to the counter and positioned her sketchbook on its surface, taking care to make sure it was angled for Gia’s line of sight. “The colors are just a suggestion,” she said before opening her book to the tabbed page.
“Oh,” Aashi murmured softly.
Across two pages, Naomi had sketched a vibrant scene: the walls were a bright cheerful teal, grounded by dark, peacock-green trim. In the back corner, a burgundy couch sat next to a miniature coffee table, warm and inviting. Yellow chairs dotted the room, welcoming people of all ages to relax and enjoy time with their friends and families. Naomi would never call herself an artist, but as she tried to survey her sketch with fresh eyes, she could almost hear the soft lull of voices and rattle of teaspoons against the mugs of patrons enjoying a respite from their busy lives.
Naomi drew her finger along the long, L-shaped countertop she’d drawn where the till stood now. “This could be one of those multitiered display cases you see in bakeries, so you can lay out what foods you have available that day,” she explained. “We can make it as large or small as you want, depending on who is going to supply the food and how much variety you want to offer.”
Gia gaze flew up from the book to find Naomi’s. “Who will make the food?”
Drawing another deep breath, Naomi refused to look away. It was the part of her plan that she had been the most uncertain about, but under Gia’s probing stare, she knew it was not the time to back down.
“I know you haven’t quite decided how involved you want to be in the new space yet. But I think you should be involved.” Naomi hoped she didn’t sound as arrogant as the words sounded to her ears. “You’re the one who built a community here, and I think you’re capable of re-creating it. This…This could be your haven again.”
When Aashi and Gia exchanged long looks, Naomi charged forward, no longer caring if her words tripped over each other. “The closest coffee shop is a fifteen-minute drive away. And so far, in this particular strip of stores, there are plenty of places to shop but nowhere to eat, except the rumored bubble tea place that’s opening up across the parking lot, but I heard it’s going to be pickup only.”
When Naomi finally stopped rambling, she was aware that her breathing was ragged and harsh, as if she had completed the one-hundred-meter dash. She felt a strange buzzing in her chest, a combination of victory and panic. The urge to say more bubbled underneath her rib cage. She wanted so badly to say the right words, the ones that would convince Gia and her family that she was the right person for the job.
That they could trust her to do their business justice.
But she had no more to say. So she waited in silence, avoiding looking at Cynthia lest the buzzing in her chest dim.
“What kind of food would we serve?” Gia wondered out loud.
Even though she wasn’t sure if the question was directed at her, Naomi jumped to answer. “Kelowna has several South Asian restaurants, but I haven’t come across any place that specializes in Bengali fare.” She chanced a quick glance at Cynthia before continuing. “I thought you could find a local bakery and bring in a selection of American and European desserts. But, Gia, you could make Bengali desserts. And chai. Something for everyone. Tourists, locals, and the South Asian community alike.”
At that, Aashi muttered something to her sister in Bengali and the two of them fell into quiet conversation, heads bent over Naomi’s proposal for the bazaar. For the first time, Naomi was struck by the similarities between the two sisters, something she hadn’t thought possible after going head-to-head with the hard, unflappable Gia before seeking comfort in Aashi’s cheerful reassurance. But the resemblance was there in the jet-black tint of their hair and the way their square-edged fingertips brushed tentatively over her sketch.
Naomi wasn’t sure if they were saying good things about her idea or ridiculing the simplicity of her presentation compared to Cynthia’s flash, but she refused to feel ashamed of her hand-drawn offering. Whether they picked her for the contract or not, she’d poured her heart into her sketch. Lacing her fingers together, Naomi found herself seeking Dev’s eyes as if the answer could be found in his curmudgeonly gaze.
He was staring right back at her, giving nothing away as to whether she’d impressed his obstinate mother. But there was something there—respect, maybe. Grudging, yes, but respect all the same. Naomi offered him a tentative smile because, whether he realized it or not, he was part of this. When he had talked of his mother’s love for hosting and feeding others, it had been the one time he had softened in the entire time she’d been in his acquaintance. That softness had fed her idea, inspired the confident strokes of her pencil on paper.
Dev smiled back, and Naomi felt her knees tremble.
The man had dimples. In both cheeks.
“We have much to discuss,” Gia said, looking between Cynthia and Naomi. “Excuse us a moment.”
Naomi and Cynthia were silent as Gia, Aashi, and Dev filed through the beaded doorway, but when Naomi heard the sound of ascending footsteps, she looked at Cynthia in confusion.
“There’s an upstairs?” Naomi said, tilting her face to the ceiling.
Cynthia was busy scrolling through her phone. “There’s an apartment or something up there.” She glanced up and cocked her head toward Naomi’s sketchbook, still flipped open on the counter in front of them. “This was a cute idea.”
Cute. Hastily, Naomi closed the book and pulled it away. “Thanks.”
“I mean, it’s a little kitschy and small-town, but cute.”
Classic Cynthia, queen of monochromatic colors, hard edges, and the backhanded compliment. And all Naomi could think to respond with was another robotic “thanks.”
“I was surprised to hear you left Adams and Ridge Solutions,” Cynthia commented. “You were doing pretty well there, weren’t you?”
Naomi swallowed the desire to correct her. She had been one of the company’s top performers, but declaring as much to Cynthia would be like dangling chum over the side of the boat into shark-infested waters. Instead, she affected a bored tone. “It was time to move on.”
“Striking out on your own is pretty ballsy given the competition around here. How’s that going?”
There was no way Naomi could admit to someone like Cynthia Kumar, with her family connections and designer purse, that it wasn’t going well. Especially after her success with Adams she’d won the contract. And beat Cynthia. She was employed again with the opportunity to devote the next three months to a project she could start from scratch while charging more than her regular fees as she and Gia had previously agreed upon. She could keep her lights on.
But these realizations failed to inspire even the slightest glimmer of euphoria. Naomi had everything she wanted but now all she wanted was to run away.