“Are you working with a realtor yet?”
“No. I’m really not even in the market, just brewing some ideas.”
“How about this. I’ve got a buddy, decent guy, that’s right down the street from the property and can show you around, and, if you decide to make an offer, if you want, he can represent you.”
“Sounds fine.”
After ending the call, Zane’s phone buzzed in his pocket no more than sixty seconds later and he had an appointment. In twenty minutes. There goes the time to think it over.
Instead of feeding the birds, he leaned against the fence and did some quick research on the basic specs he’d need; space, plumbing, electrical. As much as he had no desire to follow in his parents’ footsteps, his degree was suddenly coming in handy.
Brain swimming with millions of details, more seeming to add on each time he found a new piece of info, he sealed his eyes shut to still the mental vertigo. Dammit. He swiped up his dialer and hit send.
“Hey, Zane,” Grady answered. “Please tell me you’re behaving yourselves.”
He rolled his eyes and let out a weak laugh. “Mostly. Actually, I’m not calling as a client, but… What do you know about running a craft brewery?”
“I don’t know squat about beer. But I know enough about business.”
“So, no pressure or anything. But Asher mentioned you’re bored and need a project.”
“Hey, Asher’s just pissy because the bathroom’s a mess and I’ve been refusing to clean it until he realizes there’s nothing wrong with the toilet, the black grime is the result of no one cleaning it for an extended period of time.”
Crossing his feet as he relaxed against the fence, he laughed, “Don’t tell him about toilet brushes or bleach tablets.”
Grady laughed out loud mirthlessly, “That’s brilliant. Seriously though, I’m not exactly bored, but my job satisfaction is low, and I need something interesting to do.”
“I fucking hate talking to people. I’m decent with numbers and projections and all that bullshit, but I’d rather make good beer and maybe even design a menu and, hell, even use that stupid-ass architecture degree for something and make a place people can come to drink the beer, have some food while they do, and maybe hang out and relax.”
“Sounds like you’ve been thinking this through.”
“I’ve been letting the idea bounce around since you brought it up at Ahab’s.”
“I can talk to people. And run numbers, projections, market, network. Interested in taking on a business partner?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
“Or you could get me drunk. But no backing out after I've signed the dotted line.”
“Hey, I fully blame Freya’s cousin for getting me trashed. And I have no intention of backing out.”
“On the marriage or the partnership?”
“Fuck. I’m not looking for a damn therapist.”
“And I have no interest in being your therapist, but I’ll be happy to give you shit when you need to get your head out of your ass.”
“That I can handle. So I’m looking at the place on Main. Owners backed out.”
“The new construction? That place is nice. Great location, appealing design.”
“I’ve got a realtor that will be here in a few minutes.”
“I’ve got a client coming soon, but I’m right down the street from you. Want to swing by my office after, and we can nail down some details?”
“Sounds good.”
As they disconnected, a guy in cuffed skinny jeans with ankle boots and a button-up shirt dashed across the street toward him. “Zane?”
