“Both?” I look up from my spreadsheet of tiny house market projections, blinking like someone emerging from a cave. “I’m either having a breakthrough or a breakdown. The line is surprisingly thin.”
Marge sets down the refreshments and surveys my paper explosion with the calm assessment of someone who’s witnessedmany life crises unfold at her breakfast table. “Want to tell me what all this is about? Besides the obvious.”
“The obvious being…?”
“You trying to win back my favorite grumpy carpenter through the power of excessive documentation.” She picks up one of my papers—a particularly aggressive analysis of why small-space design is the future of sustainable housing. “Though I must say, this is more elaborate than the betting pool anticipated.”
I should be surprised that Marge knows exactly what I’m doing, but this is Maple Glen, where privacy is a theoretical concept observed primarily in bathrooms (and even then, subject to discussion if your water usage seems suspicious). “The betting pool has scenarios for relationship reconciliation strategies?”
“Oh, honey,” Marge pats my hand with grandmotherly condescension, “there’s an entire subsection with odds. ‘Grand gesture involving power tools’ is currently the favorite at 3-to-1.”
I snort, reaching for a scone. “No power tools in this plan. Just strategic application of skills I actually possess—unlike home repair.”
“PR expertise,” Marge nods, examining another document. “You’re creating a business plan.”
“Not just any business plan,” I say, pulling up the presentation I’ve been crafting since dawn. “A comprehensive proposal for Carver Custom Designs—a high-end tiny house design and consultation firm specializing in innovative small-space solutions with an emphasis on sustainability and architectural integrity.”
Marge blinks at me. “That’s quite a mission statement.”
“It’s what Owen should be doing instead of installing kitchen cabinets for vacation homes,” I explain, warming to my subject. “He’s a designer, Marge. A genuinely talented architectural mind who’s been hiding his creativity under the practical contractor persona because of family obligations and small-townexpectations.”
“I’ve known Owen since he was eight years old,” Marge says thoughtfully. “Always building things, always with that notebook. His mother used to say he designed his first treehouse with proper architectural elevations.”
“Exactly! But he gave it all up when his dad got sick, came back to take over the family business, and buried his real passion.” I gesture to my research. “But the market for custom tiny house design is exploding. There’s this whole movement toward intentional small-space living, and his designs are exactly what people are looking for—functional but beautiful, practical but innovative.”
“And you’re going to convince him of this with…” Marge waves at the chaos around us.
“Data. Market research. A concrete business plan. And most importantly, proof that I’m not going anywhere.” I meet her eyes, suddenly serious. “That’s what this is really about, Marge. Everyone in his life who matters has either left or needed him to stay exactly where he is. His ex-fiancée left when small-town life wasn’t exciting enough. His father’s illness forced him to abandon his own dreams. He’s spent years putting everyone else’s needs above his own creative fulfillment.”
“And you want to change that,” Marge says, the understanding settling between us. “This isn’t just about winning him back. It’s about giving him permission to want more.”
“It’s about showing him we can build something together that honors both our strengths.” I turn my laptop to show her the presentation slides. “His design vision, my marketing skills. His roots in this community, my connections in larger markets. His practical knowledge, my completely impractical enthusiasm.”
Marge studies the slides, her expression softening. “This is quite something, Penny. Not just the plan, but what it represents.”
“I know it might not work,” I admit, vulnerability slipping in through the cracks. “He might not be ready to take this risk. Orhe might not want to take it with me. But I have to try. Because for the first time in my life, I don’t want to run away when things get complicated. I want to build something that lasts.”
Marge squeezes my shoulder, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Well, you’re not doing it alone. This town has more invested in you two than just the betting pool.”
“What do you mean?”
Her smile turns cryptic. “Finish your presentation. Then we’ll talk about the Maple Glen Renovation Conspiracy.”
By mid-afternoon,I’ve transformed my paper tornado into a proper, professional business proposal. It’s tight, confident, and balanced—hard market data paired with aspirational vision. Exactly what I would’ve pitched to clients back in my PR days, only this time, I believe every word.
The presentation flows from market analysis (the tiny house industry has grown 67% in five years), to the competitive landscape (very few designers specialize in high-end custom solutions), to Owen’s unique value proposition (architectural training + hands-on build experience = magic). I’ve included modified versions of his sketches—just enough to show potential, without overstepping.
The financials are conservative, the roadmap realistic. Start with consultation services. Expand into custom designs. Eventually build a small portfolio. I even mapped out a phased exit strategy from the family business—because I know Owen, and I know he’ll need a slow ramp, not a leap.
The last few slides focus on risk mitigation—backup plans, low-capital entry, side-by-side comparisons with similar business models. It’s not just a pitch. It’s reassurance. Because that’s what this really is: a love letter written in bullet points and projections, designed to convince a man who avoids risk that this leap mightbe worth it.
“This is actually impressive,” I say to my reflection in the laptop screen, caught off guard by my own work. “Like, actual business-plan impressive. Not just ‘please love me’ disguised in PowerPoint.”
My phone buzzes. A text from Abby.
Status update required IMMEDIATELY. Has Operation Win Back Grumpy Carpenter commenced? Has he succumbed to your chaotic charm? Is Finn playing matchmaker? I NEED DETAILS.
I reply:
