Chapter 17 Oscar
OSCAR
The California sun hangs low in the sky as we exit the facility, casting everything in a golden hue that makes even the industrial buildings look somehow beautiful.
I roll up my sleeves and unbutton my collar, finally allowing myself to relax now that the official business part of our day is complete.
"Well?" I ask Alice, who's walking beside me, her notebook tucked under her arm. "What did you think?"
"I think it's perfect," she says, a rare smile lighting up her face. "The location, the infrastructure, the proximity to local suppliers — it's exactly what Rooted Pantry needs."
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself grinning in response. "I was thinking the same thing. We could have this place up and running within six months if we fast-track the permits."
"Four months," Alice counters. "If we're aggressive with the timeline and I oversee the buildout myself."
I chuckle. "Always pushing, aren't you?"
"That's how things get done." She shrugs, but there's a hint of pride in her voice.
We fall into step together, moving away from the industrial park and toward the more scenic streets of the neighborhood.
Neither of us suggests calling a car or heading back to the hotel right away.
It feels too nice to be outside in the late afternoon warmth, our business concluded successfully, a rare moment of harmony between us.
The sidewalk narrows, forcing us to walk closer together. Our shoulders brush occasionally, and each time sends a jolt of awareness through me that I try desperately to ignore.
"I've been thinking about the processing line," Alice says, breaking the comfortable silence. "There are some ideas I want to run by you. We could do it at dinner."
“I thought you didn’t like to combine work and meal times,” I tease.
Her cheeks turn pink. “Oh. Well– I…”
“It’s okay.” I grin at her. “You love your job. I get it.”
Her shoulders drop. “I think I was a little hard on you when I gave you grief at the party. We’re more alike than I care to admit, I guess.”
I study her thoughtfully. “Yes. I would agree with that.”
We pass a small park and wordlessly agree to enter, drawn to the quiet paths and benches. The late afternoon light filters through the trees, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of gold and shadow. A few locals are out walking dogs or jogging, but otherwise, the area is peaceful.
"You know," I say as we find a bench overlooking a small pond. "I'm really glad we're on the same page about this facility."
She sits down, setting her notebook and purse aside. "It makes sense for the company. I can't argue with that."
"You could if you wanted to," I point out, taking the spot next to her. "You've never been shy about disagreeing with me before."
She laughs softly. "True. But even I can recognize a good business decision when I see one."
Another comfortable silence falls between us.
In the distance, a couple throws bread to some ducks, their laughter carrying across the water.
I steal a glance at Alice, taking in her profile as she watches the scene.
The tension that usually tightens her features is nowhere to be seen, and I wonder if maybe we're turning a corner. For real this time.
"I got a job offer," she says suddenly, still looking out at the pond. "Just days ago, actually."
The statement catches me off guard, and I feel a cold knot form in my stomach. "Oh?"
She nods. "From Get Fresh. They wanted me to come on as their new COO."
Get Fresh — one of our biggest competitors. The implications hit me immediately. With Alice's knowledge of Rooted Pantry's operations and future plans, she'd be an invaluable asset to them. And a devastating loss to us.
To me.
"That's… quite an offer," I manage to say, trying to keep my voice neutral despite the panic rising in my chest. "When do you start?"
"I don't." She turns to look at me directly. "I turned them down."
Relief washes over me so intensely it's almost dizzying. "You did?"
"Mm-hmm." Her eyes search mine, as if gauging my reaction. "They said they'd heard about the acquisition and thought I might be looking for an exit."
I try to process this information. "And you're just telling me this now because…?"
"I don't know," she admits with a small shrug. "It didn't seem relevant before. And I thought you might take it the wrong way, like I was threatening to leave or something."
"Was it a good offer?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Very good. Corner office, significant equity stake, complete creative control." A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Pretty much everything I have at Rooted Pantry, except without you hovering over my shoulder."
I wince slightly at her characterization but can't really argue with it. "So why did you turn it down?"
Alice is quiet for a moment, considering. "I thought I knew the answer to that question," she says finally. "I told myself it was because I couldn't abandon Rooted Pantry — that I'd poured too much of myself into building it to walk away now."
"And that wasn't the reason?"
"It was part of it," she concedes. "But I think the real reason was that I couldn't stand the thought of someone else — even you — taking what I created and turning it into something unrecognizable. If I left, who would fight to preserve the company's soul?"
I already knew all of this, of course, but hearing her talk about it now — her passions, her values — strikes a new and deeper chord. People do change… and perhaps I’m becoming more like her than I ever expected to.
"I respect that," I tell her sincerely. "Your commitment to what you believe in. It's… rare."
She looks surprised by my comment. "Even when what I believe in directly contradicts what you want?"
"Especially then." I shift to face her more fully. "Do you know how many yes-men I have in my life, Alice? People who agree with every word I say because I sign their paychecks? It's refreshing to have someone challenge me. Someone who cares enough to fight for something bigger than profits."
A hint of color touches her cheeks. "I'm not trying to be difficult."
"I know." I smile at her. "You're trying to be right. And most of the time, you are."
The admission seems to catch her off guard. She studies me for a moment, as if trying to determine whether I'm being sincere or playing some angle. I hold her gaze steadily, letting her see that for once, there's no hidden agenda.
A jogger passes by, breaking the moment. Alice looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture I remember from our younger years. It's oddly comforting to see that some things haven't changed.
"I'm glad you stayed," I say quietly. "Rooted Pantry wouldn't be the same without you."
"I thought you'd try to push me out," she admits. "When you first came in. I was so prepared for that fight. But you… you’ve grown on me."
I sigh, leaning back against the bench. "I considered it," I confess, knowing I owe her honesty for honesty. "That first day, when I realized who you were and how… complicated things might get. I even told Cole we should offer you a generous severance package."
"What changed your mind?"
"You did." I turn to look at her again. "Well… it took Cole reminding me… but he pointed out that no one knows this company like you. It wouldn’t be what it is today without you, and if you leave, even if I do my best, I wouldn’t be able to uphold it the way you do."
Alice is quiet for a long moment, processing my words. The late afternoon light catches in her hair, turning the brown strands to copper and gold. I resist the urge to reach out and touch them.
"I've been so angry at you," she says finally. "For so long."
"I know."
"I'm not sure I'm ready to let that go."
"I'm not asking you to." I keep my voice gentle. "But maybe we can find a way to work together that doesn't involve constant warfare."
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "A ceasefire?"
"At minimum," I agree, returning her smile. "Though I was hoping for more of an alliance."
"Let's not get carried away," she quips, but there's a warmth in her eyes that hasn't been there before.
We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching as the sun sinks lower in the sky. The air is turning cooler now, but I'm in no hurry to leave. These moments of peace with her feel too precious to cut short.
"You know," she says eventually. "I always wondered what happened to you after you left for that fancy job. I mean, I saw the business news, obviously. 'Oscar Glynn, wunderkind entrepreneur, builds health food empire'. But I wondered about the real you, behind all the headlines."
Her admission catches me by surprise. "Did you ever think about reaching out?"
She shakes her head. "I was too hurt at first. Then too proud. Then it just seemed like too much time had passed."
"I thought about calling you," I confess. "So many times. Especially in the early days when everything was taking off. I wanted to share it with you, to tell you that all those crazy dreams we had in college weren't so crazy after all."
"Why didn't you?"
I consider my answer carefully. "I guess I was afraid you'd think I was rubbing my success in your face. Or worse, that you wouldn't care at all."
Alice looks at me thoughtfully. "I would have cared," she says softly. “Even though I was hurt.”
The simple statement lands like a stone in still water, rippling through me. Before I can respond, she stands up, smoothing down her skirt.
"We should probably head back," she says. "We've got dinner reservations, right? And I want to freshen up first."
I nod, rising to my feet. "Right. Of course."
As we walk back toward the main street to call a car, I feel something has shifted between us. Not dramatically — we're still people with twelve years of distance and hurt between us — but meaningfully. Like a door that's been firmly shut for years has now been left slightly ajar.
"Oscar?" She says as we reach the street corner.
"Hmm?"
"Thanks for listening. About the job offer and… everything else."
"Thanks for telling me," I reply. "And Alice?"
"Yes?"
"I'm really glad I’m growing on you," I say, echoing her words from earlier. "Makes working together a lot more enjoyable."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "Don't push it, buddy."