Chapter 6 - The Cost of Saying Nothing
I took Emma to the station after breakfast.
This time, I brought the folder I usually kept beneath the invoice stack.
She sat across from me while I laid everything out.
The renovation loan.
The roof estimate.
The survey showing that the easiest delivery route crossed a neighboring parcel.
The letter from the lender requesting an updated budget before releasing the next draw.
Emma read without interrupting.
Somehow, that was worse than shouting.
Finally, she asked, “When were you going to tell me?”
“I didn’t know what we were yet.”
“That explains not telling me your bank balance. It doesn’t explain asking me to trust a version of this project with half the problems missing.”
“I never asked you to invest.”
“I’m already invested.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I looked at the recipe box.
She followed my gaze.
“Your mother isn’t a reason to do this alone.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I wanted to say I had been protecting her.
But I could hear how that would sound after what Daniel had done.
“I was embarrassed.”
Emma leaned back.
The anger didn’t disappear. It changed shape.
“About what?”
“That I bought something I might not be able to save.”
Outside, a work truck backed past the windows.
“I’m good at building things,” I said. “People trust me to know what I’m doing.”
“You can know what you’re doing and still need help.”
“I didn’t want you to come home and find me failing.”
She stared at me.
“I came home exhausted, uncertain about my job, and crying in an airport bathroom because a gate agent asked whether I was traveling alone.”
I looked up sharply.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“No. I didn’t want you to think I was failing.”
We sat with the uncomfortable symmetry.
Then Emma pushed the papers into a neat stack.
“I’m going back to Chicago tomorrow.”
My chest tightened.
“To deal with work,” she added. “And to think.”
“About us?”
“Yes.”
I nodded, though everything in me wanted to bargain.
She stood.
“Last night mattered to me.”
“It mattered to me too.”
“Then please understand why I need us to be able to tell the truth after the kiss.”
She left with a copy of the floor plan.
I didn’t ask what that meant.
At noon, Daniel appeared carrying lunch.
I almost told him to go.
Instead, I unlocked the door.
He put two sandwiches on the ticket counter.
“Emma told me you’re both having a terrible time being adults.”
“That sounds right.”
He looked around.
“I also owe you an apology about this place.”
“You already apologized.”
“Different mistake. I’m diversifying.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Daniel took out his laptop.
“I kept telling you to sell because I was scared you’d lose everything. I never asked whether we could make the numbers work.”
“We?”
“I’m an accountant, Ryan. Let me account.”
For three hours, we reviewed expenses.
The full kitchen buildout was too much.
The bakery alone was possible.
The delivery problem had another solution: a narrow service entrance off the side street, subject to approval.
It cost money.
Less money than giving up.
By evening, the plan had become smaller and more believable.
I called my lender.
Then I called an attorney about Alden’s letter.
Only after that did I text Emma.
You were right. I’ve asked for help. I’m revising the project in phases. You don’t need to fix it. I wanted you to know what’s actually happening.
She replied twenty minutes later.
Thank you for telling me.
May you like
I stared at those five words.
For once, I didn’t try to turn them into a promise.
