Chapter 26 - Rachel’s Bad News
Rachel avoided me for three days.
Not completely.
We worked in the same building.
We kissed goodnight.
We talked about deliveries.
But there was a small distance in her eyes.
By Thursday, I asked.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That answer has a history.”
She sighed.
“Come upstairs.”
The warehouse had a small unused office above the café.
Rachel sat on the windowsill.
“I got an offer.”
“What kind?”
“A regional café group wants to buy Second Cup.”
I stared at her.
“That’s huge.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
She told me.
I whistled.
“You could retire.”
“I’m thirty-nine.”
“You could retire badly.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“They want the name, recipes, customer list, everything.”
“Do you want to sell?”
“I don’t know.”
Old Ethan appeared instantly with spreadsheets.
Taxes.
Investment returns.
Growth projections.
I almost opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
Rachel noticed.
“What?”
“I’m trying not to solve you.”
“Please solve me a little.”
We both laughed.
Then I sat beside her.
“What scares you about selling?”
“That I’ll regret it.”
“What scares you about not selling?”
“That I’ll regret it.”
“Helpful.”
“Very.”
The offer would give Rachel financial security she had never had.
But Second Cup was not just coffee.
It was proof that after her first marriage, she could build something nobody controlled.
Selling felt like success and abandonment at the same time.
“I thought you’d tell me to take the money,” she said.
“I almost did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you didn’t ask what I would do.”
She rested her head against the wall.
“What would you do?”
“I’d probably sell.”
“Why?”
“I like building businesses less than furniture.”
She laughed.
“That’s fair.”
Then she looked at me.
“I’m afraid if I sell, this changes us.”
I understood.
The shared warehouse had become part of our relationship.
Separate businesses beside each other.
Coffee through the glass wall.
Lunch.
Arguments about music.
“If you sell tomorrow,” I said, “I’m still taking you to dinner Friday.”
“What if I move?”
“I own a truck.”
“What if I decide I want to travel for six months?”
“I’ll be extremely jealous.”
“What if I open another café somewhere else?”
“I’ll build your tables and charge full price.”
She smiled.
“What if I stop owning anything impressive?”
I took her hand.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“I didn’t fall in love with your commercial lease.”
She cried.
I pretended not to notice until she laughed through it.
Two weeks later, she declined the offer.
Not because of me.
She negotiated instead.
The group agreed to license several recipes and help distribute her coffee beans under the Second Cup brand.
Rachel kept the café.
She also gained enough money to hire a manager and reclaim part of her life.
Her first act of freedom was taking Tuesday afternoons off.
Her second was forcing me to do the same.
We drove nowhere.
Literally.
The first Tuesday, we got in my truck and chose roads based on whether they looked interesting.
At a roadside antique store, Rachel found an ugly ceramic mug.
Orange.
Crooked handle.
Painted cow.
“You said every café should have one ugly mug.”
She held it up.
“This is magnificent.”
“It’s criminal.”
She bought it.
Back at the warehouse, she placed it on a shelf behind the register.
A month later, I found a small velvet ring box hidden inside it.
I froze.
Rachel entered behind me.
“Oh, damn it.”
I turned.
“You bought a ring?”
She snatched the box.
“It’s not for you.”
“I assumed.”
Her face turned red.
I stared.
“Rachel?”
She closed her eyes.
“I was thinking about proposing.”
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
She started laughing nervously.
“This is terrible.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I had a plan.”
“You had a ring in a cow mug.”
“The mug was temporary.”
I laughed.
Then she laughed.
Then we both stopped.
“You want to marry me?” I asked.
Rachel looked terrified.
“Yes.”
I stepped toward her.
“I bought a ring last week.”
She stared.
“You did not.”
“It’s in my toolbox.”
“That is the least romantic hiding place imaginable.”
“Your ring was in a cow.”
“Fair.”
For several seconds, we just looked at each other.
Then Rachel said, “This feels like a logistical problem.”
May you like
I smiled.
“I have experience with those.”
