Page 32 of Cooking Up My Comeback

Which makes my chest tight with something I don’t want to examine too closely.

“What’s the timeline?”

“Six months if the stars align. Eight if this place decides to surprise me with its creative interpretation of ‘up to code.’”

“And you’d handle all the construction? All the business setup?”

“That’s the plan. Permits, contractors, equipment, point-of-sale systems, insurance—all of it. You focus on the menu, the staff training, the guest experience.”

She nods slowly, walking the perimeter of the dining area like she’s mentally arranging tables and chairs. “What about startup costs? Food inventory, initial staffing, marketing?”

“Covered.”

She stops walking and stares at me. “All of it?”

“I told you, I’m not asking for money. I’m asking for your talent.”

“Brett.” Her voice is careful now, like she’s trying not to spook a wild animal. “What’s your endgame here? What do you actually want out of this?”

And there it is. The question I’ve been avoiding because the honest answer involves concepts like “staying put” and “building a future” that I’m not sure I’m ready to voice. Or believe in.

“I want to build a place that matters,” I say finally. “A place that serves this community instead of just extracting from it.”

“And then?”

“And then... I don’t know.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly a five-year business plan.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Most people would want some kind of exit strategy. Some idea of return on investment.”

“I’m not most people.”

“I’m starting to figure that out.” She studies me with those sharp brown eyes, and I can practically see her trying to decode what makes me tick. “You’re not very good at this whole business pitch thing, are you?”

“Apparently not.”

“Most investors would have spreadsheets. Market analysis. Profit projections.”

“Would that make you feel better about this?”

“It would make me feel like you’ve thought this through instead of just... winging it.”

“I have thought it through. Just not in spreadsheets.”

She crosses her arms. “How then?”

“By watching you work. By seeing what you could do with proper equipment and adequate support. By realizing this town needs something it doesn’t have.”

“And what’s that?”

“A place that cares more about the community than the profit margin.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can see her processing. Trying to decide if I’m someone she can trust with her dreams or just another guy with good intentions and questionable follow-through.

“For argument’s sake,” she says slowly, “let’s say I was interested. What kind of food are we talking about?”