Over the next hour, she finishedthe cookies while we chatted. I occasionally helped her out by doing non-baked-goods-destroying tasks such as filling piping bags. As evening approached, I caught her glancing nervously toward her still-closed laptop. I knew it was killing her not to check if there’d been any response to the new video.
“What do you see yourself doing in the future?” I asked. “Full-time vlogger?”
Maureen shook her head wistfully. “I love doing my videos.” She leaned over a cookie to pipe some red icing. “But I doubt I’ll ever be able to monetize the channel enough to make a living. I’ve been toying with the idea of running some sort of consignment or thrift shop. Maybe offering low-cost styling online.”
It was the type of creative investment I’d supported at Yardhouse, the company I founded after leaving Wallingford.
Maureen spoke as though she’d given the idea serious consideration. “I figure if I combine a storefront with an online sales platform—something I learned a lot about at Kolya’s—I could make it work.”
“It’s an awesome idea.” I forced myself not to sound overeager. “You know, I have an MBA I’m not putting to use right now. I’d be happy to help you develop a business plan or talk through logistics.”
I knew how reluctant she was to lean on others. That was why her answer surprised me.
“Really? It’s overwhelming, thinking of where to start, but I’d love to bounce my plans off someone who can rein me in. I know if I mentioned this to Marley, she’d just be completely gung-ho and useless in helping me throw out bad ideas and narrow things down.”
“I admire Marley’s positive energy,” I said. “When I established my firm, I allowed a lot of unvetted pitches. I had the privilege of time and money, so I indulged that whim to be eccentric. At Wallingford Capital, they never encouraged us to be creative with our investments. Only safe risks. At Yardhouse, I heard some of the wildest ideas you can imagine.”
“Like what?”
“Well, one guy pitched a nightclub for teenagers, and the big draw would be a VIP section.”
“VIP teens?” She scrunched her face.
I chuckled. “We also had a lady who wanted a nail salon for dogs—no grooming or bathing, just like, colored nails for dogs.” Maureen licked a bit of frosting off her thumb before releasing a giggle. “The bottom line is, if someone who worked at a store like Kolya’s and already had a built-in audience on YouTube, came to me with the idea to run any sort of fashion-centered business, I wouldn’t consider it too much of a risk. I could probably even help you find the start-up capital if you want me to.”
She gave me a half smile. “I appreciate you not just offering to fund it.”
“I’m helpful. Not an idiot. Obviously, I’d be willing to do whatever you needed. But I already pissed you off enough intervening with that guy at the bar five years ago. I’m not going to insert myself into the middle of your dream.”
“As it turns out, I have plenty of capital. My mom’s inheritance, plus my own savings and the money from selling my part of the house to Marley. Not only can I afford to startthe business, I can afford to fail at it, or at least take my time growing it.”
“You can succeed with the right plan and setup. I’m sure of it.”
Maureen grew quiet, finishing the last of the cookies. Eventually, she said, “You know, listening to you yesterday helped put some things into perspective for me.”
My brows drew together. “How so?”
“When you were talking about after your accident, you said you played the part of William so well you basically lost yourself. In Seattle, I assumed the role of an untouchable fashionista. Especially once I got the job at Kolya’s. Then what happened between us cemented the idea that it was better to be hard. Icy.”
I shifted, but she pulled close to me, folding her knees underneath herself on the cushion and leaning them against my hip. “No. I wasn’t saying that to make you feel bad. I meant it when I said I’m over it. And truthfully, it would have happened whether or not I’d met you.”
She leaned up against my side and laid her head on my shoulder, the lavender scent of her hair invading my nose. “I like how I feel here. I like this in-the-middle version of me. Living in the city helped me be better in Coleman Creek, if that makes sense. Seattle Maureen had selective amnesia. I forgot about my mom’s recipes and about enjoying all the Christmas traditions we used to have. I became one version of myself and pushed the rest down. Not that I regret it. If I had allowed myself to think of everything that feltwrongin Seattle, if I’d paid attention to that, I wouldn’t have been able to establish myself. And I would have wondered my whole life if I hadn’t at least tried something like Kolya’s. Sort of like trying on outfits. But with my career.”
I took a chance and reached for her hand. She looked surprised for a moment, then placed them together in her lap. Her head on my shoulder felt like the best kind of burden. Grounding me.
“Figuring out you’re not on the track you want to be on isn’t easy,” I said.
“No.” She hummed, absently brushing along my palm with her thumb. “And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, from when you left your family’s company?”
“Mm-hmm.” I put my other hand on her knee, twisting to face her. Colorful lights from the tree reflected in her irises. “Do you know what I wish I had when I made that decision?”
She shook her head. “What?”
“I would have loved to have someone there to tell me I was doing the right thing and that it was okay for me to follow my heart.”
Angling her face until we were almost nose-to-nose, she said, “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone in your corner for so long.”
The knee that she’d pressed into my hip trembled slightly. My hand moved upward from her leg to cup her cheek. “I want to be that for you, Maureen. If you’ll let me. I want to be the one cheering you on when you do all the amazing things I know you’re going to.”
