“You mentioned it last summer.”
“Did I?” And she remembered? That had to mean something. He noticed coleslaw, corn bread, and a cold beer on the table. “Cat, this is really thoughtful. I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I don’t cook!” She laughed. “But I’m a real whiz with takeout. Now sit.”
She went to the sink and returned to the table with a glass of water.
“Guess you’re not going to help me eat this Fred Flintstone–size portion of ribs?” He plucked a few off the pile and put them on his plate.
“I’m meeting Vivi for a late lunch, but trust me, passing on those ribs is not a sacrifice.” She shook her head and drank her water. “Now, if your favorite food were chocolate mousse cake, then I’d be tempted.”
“Duly noted.” He wasted no time digging into lunch. As he licked his fingers, he asked, “Why all this, Cat?”
“Because you’re always taking care of others.” She dipped her forefinger into a dollop of extra barbeque sauce and tasted it with a slow lick. Oh, yeah. He wanted some of that. He eyed the barbeque sauce and quickly thought up a few creative uses. She dipped her finger in the sauce again. “I thought you should know how it feels to have someone look after you.”
Dazed, he had to drag his gaze away from the finger in her mouth and take an extra few seconds to process her response. “It feels really good.”
His remark earned him a gigantic smile, which flipped his heart over a time or two. Hell and damnation, Jackson was right. He was in trouble.
He ate quickly so he could get back to work.
“This was a real treat. Thanks. But honestly, don’t put yourself out on my account.” He tossed the bones in the garbage and rinsed his plate. “I should get back to work.”
“Hold on. I have one more thing to show you. Can you sit for five more minutes?”
He did as he was asked while she pulled a sheet of paper from her fancy purse. She laid it in front of him and asked, “What do you think of this name?”
A walnut-brown rectangle read: “Mitchell/St. James, handcrafted fine furnishings,” written in a modern, golden-yellow font.
He stared at her, unsure how to respond.
She eyed the paper again. “Once you promised to consider this, I got a burst of creative energy. All weekend I kept thinking of a name to convey upscale, unique furniture while also taking advantage of whatever cache my ‘name brand’ lends. But it didn’t seem right to focus solely on my name because you’re the designer. Then it hit me . . . our names work nicely together, and as the talent, you get top billing.”
Her excited smile wormed its way inside his chest. The slightest encouragement from him had prompted that joy and confidence. How could he snatch it away now?
“They sure do.” Seeing their names blended together brought to life a bunch of other unrealistic fantasies.
“That’s not all. Once this brand becomes very chichi, we could expand to mass manufacturing knockoffs. We could call that line ‘CT Chic’ to capitalize on the whole New England thing people love. At that point, the revenue potential would grow significantly.”
“Wow. You’re jumping way ahead.” Her contagious enthusiasm hooked him a little, but hers were huge dreams, and none of them addressed the risks. “There are still a whole lot of questions to answer before this idea gets off the ground.”
She withdrew the paper and shot him a disappointed scowl before smacking him with a sarcastic, “No kidding.”
“I’m not belittling you, but these ideas sound expensive. And I’m only one guy. There’s a limit to what I can produce, which I can’t imagine can actually support you, me, and my family.”
“All of that can be worked out. Maybe I just take enough to cover my costs in the beginning or something, or offer internships to apprentices or whatever to help you work. Meanwhile, I could start to spread the word among my close friends, with the goal of growing a wealthy clientele—maybe even approach some upscale boutique inns and retail clients who want a specialty display table or armoires or something.” Cat looked triumphant. “We’d keep prices high by being selective at first. Create buzz and mystique, then once we’d established a reputation and an amazing portfolio, then we’d launch the affordable furniture line.”
“You don’t lack ambition.” He chuckled before turning sober. “Your confidence is contagious, but the devil is in the details. Can I do this without risking my family’s stability? They count on my paycheck, and I sure don’t have any money to invest. If I were on my own, I’d be all-in in a heartbeat. But I don’t see how this works for me right now.”