10. Just A Little Committed
10
JUST A LITTLE COMMITTED
Gage
Felix waits in the courtyard for us with a look in his eyes that says this is practically a done deal. At least I sure hope that’s the look. “I had a feeling this place would be too hard for the two of you to resist,” he says with the confidence of a seasoned businessman. I feel some of that confidence. I crave all of it.
“You were right,” Elodie says to him, then follows as he leads us into the hotel lobby, down a hall, and into his office.
Turns out Felix isn’t simply the guy sweeping the courtyard. He’s the owner of The Escape and the coveted retail space it leases.
His office is unassuming. A simple oak desk. Some blue chairs. A vase of fresh flowers in fall colors. A couple framed photos on the desk, including a shot of three women on the deck of the San Francisco Ferry with crinkles in the corner of their eyes and bright smiles. “My daughters,” he says, proudly. “My granddaughter took the shot.”
“It’s lovely,” I say.
“You have a beautiful family,” Elodie adds.
“Thank you.”
Felix gestures to the two chairs waiting for us. We sit and he moves behind his desk. He sits back in his chair, strokes his beard, those eyes twinkling again like they did on Friday night. There’s something about this man that’s almost magical. Swap that dark brown beard out for a white one and he’d play Santa Claus in every Webflix holiday special. But instead he’s playing the part of the savvy businessman, since he wastes no time. “I looked over your pitch. It’s promising. I wasn’t expecting to have this space available in the evenings till next year. Starting in a few weeks we’ll be selling branded merch during the day, but at night it can easily be used for other things. In fact I had leased it through the end of the year for weekend nights. But it didn’t work out,” he says, a hint of irritation in his tone that he quickly dismisses, as if he considers irritation rude. “Their loss. Potentially your gain. And mine as well.”
“And all the future happy customers’ too,” Elodie adds, and damn, she is good with her saleswomanship.
“That’s the goal, isn’t it?”
Yes, yes it is.
He pauses for a moment, clearly thinking, then he says, “There’s no point beating around the bush. I’m quite intrigued by Special Edition. I think it could be the perfect business to delight my guests as we head into the holiday season. And I’d been looking for something in the dessert world for weekend nights. But to have two of my favorite things? Cocktails and chocolate?” He makes a chef’s kiss gesture.
Briefly I consider hiding a smile, but what’d be the point? I’m fucking excited. “They go well together,” I say.
“So well, I can see the crowds now,” he says, then sighs like he’s really enjoying the image. He shakes it off though, his gaze intense and lasered in on us. “You must have been working on this idea for some time.”
Two days, give or take.
I steal a glance at Elodie and she shoots me a grin that I suspect says go with it . What’s the harm in stretching the truth a bit? “We’ve been talking for a while and we really thought it would be great. Then we happened upon your space when we were out,” I say casually.
“Kismet.” He picks up a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on his desk and peers at the screen, presumably checking out the info we sent him over the weekend for our concept for the Friday and Saturday night pop-up shop. “ It’ll be intimate. We’ll encourage people to take pics, then put their phones down. Our offerings will be highly curated with playlists and themes ,” he says, reading back what we wrote. Then he turns back to look at us. “We have a lot of foot traffic already with the hotel and our other retail shops. Our guest list is highly desirable, but we also attract plenty of locals. For the pop-up space, my goal is to have both a place that my guests will frequent, but one that’ll draw traffic to my hotel and the other retail spaces too. You’ll market the hotel, and the hotel can help your shop,” he says and those are the magic words that I need to impress Celeste. Running this pop-up shop here has the potential to bring buzz to my name and the Sticks and Stones brand to help me seal the deal for the second location.
Not to mention the money.
That’s why I enlisted Zoe to help out more. I trust her immensely and she’s game to handle running Sticks and Stones on those busy weekend nights that are usually mine if we can pull off this pop-up shop.
“Yes, and I’m already active on social with the bar. My accounts are very engaged,” I say, then gesture to my business partner. “Elodie’s, too, for her shop. So we’re ready to hit the ground running on that front,” I say. I want this badly. I can practically taste security on my tongue.
“That’s great. That’s one of my key criteria in leasing the space. I want partners who, frankly, already have somewhat of a following.”
“Some people post the outfit of the day. I do the chocolate of the day,” Elodie says with that smile that knocked me on my ass.
“Excellent. I checked out both your socials, so that’s all good. And you bring other things to the table too. Because it takes a load off my mind to know that you two are committed,” he says.
“We’re definitely committed,” I say, and he really seems stuck on that idea. But it’s no big deal to let him think this is a passion project we’ve been cooking up for some time rather than an idea that came together after we came together. Well, she did .
“Good. Good,” Felix repeats, then takes off his glasses, gives me a grandfatherly stare, then her. “The last couple I rented this space to?”
“The cake-in-a-jar shop?” Elodie asks.
“Yes. Their treats were mouthwatering and it should have been a slam dunk. But when they broke up, they broke their lease. Which is why I’m pleased the two of you are interested.”
Hold the fuck on.
Time slows.
My brain goes sluggish, then speeds up all at once.
“Wait,” I sputter. “They…what?”
“That’s why the space is, unfortunately, available when I’d hoped it wouldn’t be,” he says, sounding not quite bitter but a little irked. “I detest drama. I don’t have the time or patience for relationship this and that. She loves me, she loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not ,” he says, clearly parroting the prior tenants. “Life is short. I’m not a couples counselor. And I’m simply not in the mood to deal with that again.” He points to Elodie’s big sparkly cocktail ring. “I’m glad to know this is serious.”
Holy fucking shit.
That’s the commitment he’s talking about?
He thinks we’re together together . But why does he think that?
The answer comes instantly as I flash back to Friday night. We held hands the whole time we spoke to him. I kissed her like she was mine right there in the shop we’re trying to lease. She’s wearing the blingiest ring I’ve ever seen. And he’s the hotel owner. He may somehow know we rented a room—together.
Hell, I ran a hand down her arm outside the shop when I just saw her minutes ago. We act like we’re madly in… gulp …love. To top it off, we pitched a chocolate and cocktails concept, targeting it especially for date nights.
Adrenaline surges through me. I’ve got to handle this. I’ve got to fix this problem. I should tell him the truth. Really, I should, even if it means losing out on this space.
But would we for sure lose it? Do I actually have to lie? Maybe I could just let him think we’re together without saying otherwise?
That’s not technically a fib.
I steal a glance at Elodie, trying to read her like I would when I was on the mound back in the day. Like she’s the catcher behind the plate. Is she giving me the sign that I’m throwing a curveball when she’s expecting a fast one down the middle? Her blue eyes flash with something. But is that a sparkle or a warning?
Ah, hell. It’s been a while since I read a catcher.
I take a chance and lob an easy pitch. “Who wouldn’t commit to her?”
I’ll just see if she catches it. If she’s comfortable. How she reacts.
Elodie’s still for a beat. Maybe contemplating. Her left hand is raised in the air, fingers fiddling with the ends of her hair. Ring glinting like a beacon guiding a plane to the runway at night.
Then she shrugs happily, smiles, and takes the flight in for a smooth landing when she says, “We’re totally marrying the hell out of each other.”