by Pat Amsden
“Always,” Elena said, smiling. “It’s one of the things that drew me to that location. I thought people would come to look at the water wheel and learning more about Chemainus, maybe take a ten minute tour on the mini-train and make their way down to the marina.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “If there’s something to draw them there.”
“But there is,” she said. “My shop.”
“It could be,” he agreed. “Let’s continue shall we?”
A crowd of people had gathered to watch a juggler across the street. Main Street was filled with an eclectic variety of shops and galleries. She stopped and talked to several comparing notes.
“You know, I’d love to sell your work in my gallery,” a woman named Tina said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied politely.
But on the street she was furious. “How dare she suggest that when she KNOWS I’ve got my own gallery open just a few blocks from her?”
“I don’t think she was trying to be insulting,” he said mildly.
Which of course, only angered her more. “So you think that’s OK?”
“I didn’t say give her your work. I just said I don’t think she meant anything personal by it.”
She glanced sideways at him. Even as she knew he was right she couldn’t help being irritated by this – this – lack of support for her feelings.
And what was she feeling? Usually she loved walking around Chemainus. Today she was on edge, angry and frightened. Why?…Because this man was making her see things she didn’t want to see. And she knew he knew. Even if he didn’t flat out say –‘ I told you so!’
“OK. So you’ve made your point. They’re all busier than I am,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes.
Oh God. Tears again. He couldn’t take tears. “I think you knew that before. That really wasn’t why I wanted to walk through Chemainus.”
“Then why?” she said, her voice rising. “To show me just how badly my shop is doing? To show me that I really will be out of business in six months?”
“To show you what you’re up against,” he said abruptly. He smiled at her, charming her against her will. “I’ll buy you an ice-cream from Mae-Belles,” he said pointing to the ice-cream store across the street.
He had Chocolate Raspberry and she had Cookies and Cream. “Heaven,” he said closing his eyes and letting the chocolate melt on his tongue.
Elena laughed. “Mae-Belle makes her own ice-cream. I don’t think she’s heard of low-fat. She just believes in getting the best ingredients and then slow-churning it until it tastes like,” she paused, considering. “Heaven,” she agreed.
“Well, come on, let’s find somewhere to sit in the park and enjoy it.”
Wandering down the street they made their way across the street to the park and sat on a rock outcropping crowded by people going down into the marina area, her shop.
For May the weather was unseasonably warm, being a good 20 degrees. She could feel herself relaxing as she sat there with Brad eating ice-cream and watching people in the park.
“Is that where you grew up? In a small town?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Only our mayor didn’t have a ‘You Can Do It’ attitude.”
“You worked in the mill?”
“My dad did. It was a good life. Mom stayed home, looked after the house.”
She was regarding him with amazement.
“What?”
“You’re so lucky!” she said
“You think?!” He could feel the anger. What did she know? “Yeah,” he said shortly. “Until the mill closed.”
“That must’ve been tough,” she said sympathetically.
“We survived,” he said shortly.
She fell silent. Hew own life had been so different. “It must’ve been nice having your mother there when you got home from school,” she said dreamily.
His eyebrow quirked up. “Somehow I don’t see you as a latchkey kid.”
She laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Oh, there was always someone home. The maid or nanny if no one else. That’s if we didn’t have ballet or soccer or music, gymnastics…”
“Poor you.”
She bit back a retort, aware the average person couldn’t understand what it was like to grow up with everything – and nothing. “Then you should be able to understand why I want to do this on my own without any help from dad.”
“I’m not asking you to get help from your dad,” he said impatiently.
“Then how am I supposed to do everything you say I need to do? I don’t have the money.”
“You just need more.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Banks, private investors. First we figure out what you need.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It can be,” he said.
“OK then,” she said. “We can get a couple of contractors in, get an idea of the costs. But that’s it.”
He grinned at her. “Know any good contractors?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll ask around, get some recommendations.”
“I could ask some of my regulars.”
“No need.”
She bit back a retort. “And I want environmentally friendly.”
“What?!”
“It may cost a bit more but it’s important,” she said stubbornly.
“For someone who didn’t want to spend money a minute ago you’ve certainly changed your tune.”
“I don’t think so,” she said stubbornly. “If I can’t afford to do it right I’d rather not do it at all.”
He shook his head in frustration. “It will add twenty – thirty percent to your costs,” he warned.
“I don’t care,” she said.
“At least get estimates of both.”
“Fine.”
He could almost hear her say ‘and then we’ll do it my way.’ Unbelievable. “I’ll get started on that,” he said shortly.
“Good,” she said. She watched him leave. She knew he was upset but honestly, how could he not understand her deep connection to nature. Regardless of the cost she had to do what was right for the environment.
Back at Elena’s she realized she was in limbo. There wasn’t any point in setting up her gallery if she was going to do a major renovation. And she’d need a place to stay if and when she did the renovation.
She poured coffee for Dan, a fisherman, who lived on his boat. Did she want to make the changes Brad wanted? It made good business sense but if she ended up with another trendy Starbucks style coffee shop was that what she wanted? Something told her Dan or Mary or any of her other regulars didn’t do Starbucks.
She could’ve stayed in Vancouver if that was what she wanted. She’d wanted small town. She’d wanted quirky. She’d listen to what he had to say, to his ideas. But ultimately this was her business, her dream.
In the meantime she had an afternoon free. She took out a sketch pad and began sketching the harbour. “Have you lived in Chemainus all your life,” she asked as she worked.
“Born and bred,” Dan said proudly.
She’d love to do a portrait of him sometime. His grizzled face had tanned to a deep brown from years spent on the ocean while his beard was salt and pepper. His face creased with years of living, years of laugh lines.
“Were you always a fisherman?”
“Mostly. I did some logging in my younger days.” They lapsed into silence as she concentrated on roughing out the harbour line, drawing in the docks and boats. She needed paints to bring the life out in the harbour, the light and shadow in the water, the riot of colour from the different boats, the people walking along the docks.
She’d started laying on rough patches of colour when Brad reappeared. He watched silently as she deftly laid a patch of blue down and then white, unaware of his existence as she concentrated on her work.
He helped himself to a cup of coffee watching her work in silence, awed by her talent. Stick figures w
ere the best he could do. And frankly he’d seen better stick figures in the local kindergarten class.
The old man winked. “She’s got some kind of talent doesn’t she?” Then he got up and left walking down to the marina.
She put her brush down. “I think he likes you.”
“I think he likes you better.”
She wiped off her brush. “Give me a minute to get my brushes cleaned up and I’ll be all yours.”
Forbidden images of her lips on his, his arms holding her, sprang to his mind. Don’t go there, he warned himself. Mixing business and pleasure was a bad idea. It almost always ended in disaster. Even if she did remind him of a wood elf, he thought, with her long hair, the colour of ebony and creamy white skin. Those long, long legs and arms … She was Greg Tighe’s daughter. Don’t go there, he told himself.
She came over bringing a cup of coffee with her and two squares. “You have to try these,” she said offering him one.
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry. I just wanted to let you know I’ve got a couple of contractors coming in tomorrow to give estimates. I’ll reserve a room for you at the Sea Side while the work gets done.”
“I’ve already made other arrangements,” she said taking a bite of the square. “Mmm – you really have to try this. It’s delish…” She broke off a piece and held it out to him.
He took a bite. He was a dead man. The butter tart was delicious but it could’ve been sawdust. Her eyes were moss green pools with flecks of amber and she smelled of cinnamon and spice, of flowers. He had a job to do he reminded himself.
“You can’t stay in the loft are when the contractors start.”
“I talked to Mary. She’s got extra room”
“Oh.” He should be relieved. It was one less problem to worry about. “Do you need any help moving?”
She smiled at him. “I’ll be fine. Really.”
She wasn’t going to admit her belongings could pretty much fit into a couple of suitcases. Except for her paintings and most of those were still crated up.
“How long do you think the renovations will take?”
“I’m guessing a month or two. You don’t want to lose the summer season.”
“That long?” she said surprised.
“The contractors can give us a better idea of time lines,” Brad said.
“I don’t want the regulars to be inconvenienced.”
“They’ll survive,” he said shortly.
“I’m sure they’ll survive,” she said. “I just don’t like inconveniencing them.”
Privately Brad wasn’t sure it would be much of a loss. He knew better than to suggest that to her however. He switched subjects. “Do you have anyone representing your work?”
“I’ve had a couple of shows, a few agents have shown interest,” she said shrugging. “You know the saying. The only rich artist is a dead artist – and that’s not a sacrifice I’m ready to make for my art.”
He laughed. “The gallery will be good exposure. I’d like to get a friend of mine who’s a computer geek to make a web page for you. You can showcase your art.”
Her smile was radiant. “I love it. I’ve thought of doing that myself but I’m not familiar with web page design.”
“Jan is. She studied computers at BCIT and then went into web design. She’s done pages for everything from small restaurants to large corporations.”
A bolt of jealousy hit Elena by surprise. Where had that come from? Why should she care about a friend of Brads?
But no matter how or why she couldn’t shake the feeling. She did care about Brad. And she’d have felt much happier if the web page master was named Joe or Bill or – she wasn’t ready for this.
She didn’t have time for a man in her life. And even if she did he was all wrong for her. ALL WRONG! He was her Dad all over again, more interested in business and making deals than people. Once he’d finished moulding her business to his idea of what success was he’d be out of here and onto the next client.
“She must have a web page,” she said. “If you give me the name I’ll look at it on Mary’s computer. Along with a couple of artists I went to school with who do web design now. After all it’s always good to look at options, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” he said puzzled. He could feel the cold front that had suddenly descended on them, he just didn’t know why. “We’ll leave it at that for now.”
He walked out and she stood shivering in the middle of the room. No way. Absolutely not. He was all wrong for her. All wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
She’d moved her things into Mary’s spare room. Her paintings she’d crate up and put in storage with the rest when – and if – she went ahead with the renovations. Right now she was going over suggested changes with the third contractor this morning.
“You might want to look at renting the space next to you. Give you a lot more gallery space. This is just giving you an estimate for the space you have. Structurally it seems in good shape and the electrical’s up to code. We’ll do the gallery section green like you want with brown accents. Lots of recessed lighting with stands and ledges to display work on.
The coffee area will be where it is now but we’ll put in new floor. I know environment’s important to you so I’d suggest bamboo. We can put in a couple of solar panels on the roof which will help with heating. All told you’re looking at 40 – 50 grand.”
“I see.” It was worse than she’d thought. Even the cheapest estimate was $35,000 and now Brad was talking about a manager for the coffee shop/gallery.
“No. No way. I can’t afford it. I’ll manage it myself,” she said.
“Bad idea,” he said. “You’ll never get any work done once it gets busy.”
“So. I’ve got Michelle to help me.”
“And she’s – where?”
“She wanted a couple of days off,” she said stiffly.
“Right. You need a full time manager.”
“Why? Because I’m not capable.”
“No. Because there are fifty people out there who can manage the day-to-day. There’s only one you. You’re a unique talent.”
His eyes were liquid fire she thought feeling her heart catch in her throat.
“I didn’t start this as a hobby. It’s my business. I want to be involved in every step.”
“Believe me, there’ll be enough to keep you busy,” he said impatiently. “And you’ll need to be on top of what’s happening. But you don’t have to pour every cup of coffee or ring up every sale.”
“OK, you might be right. But between my lease and renovations. I’ve spent almost all my start-up money.”
“But you’ll be bringing money in and you can get a loan. Having a solid vision of where you’re going and an experienced manager will help with that.”
“Isn’t a manager going to be expensive?”
“Thirty, forty thousand a year and a percentage of the profits.”
“That’s more than I have.”
“It takes money to make money,” he said.
“But I don’t have it!”
“You’ll be generating income.”
“What if I don’t? What if no one comes?”
“If I really thought that would happen I wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh,” she said faintly. That was true. It there wasn’t any money to be made he wouldn’t be here at all. Not if he worked for her dad.
“I just need time OK. I – I need to go for a walk, think about it.”
He grinned at her. “I can come with you if you want.”
“No, no way.” The last thing she needed was Brad explaining how it worked. She just needed to walk, to think. To breathe. Just breathe, she told herself.
She was here in ‘The Little Town That Could’ because it was a place that supported her, supported her dreams. Brad wasn’t suggesting anything bad. He was showing her how to make her dream a reality.
But he was pushing her. Her heart was beating faster at the thought of all the
money, her hands sweaty. Oh compared to the deals her dad did, deals Brad probably did on a regular basis this was small potatoes. But it wasn’t to her. It was all the money she had. It was her chance at independence, at living her own life. Did Brad understand that? Did he care?
It was hours later when she went back to her gallery/café. She expected Brad to be gone. He wasn’t. He was sitting at a table working on his laptop. He looked up as she entered and she could see the question in his eyes.
She stopped before him. “OK, here’s the deal. I’m ready to make the changes. But we’re doing it my way.”
He grinned at her. “Your way?”
“I am not turning this into Starbucks.”
“Oh God forbid. Why would you want to turn it into a multi-million dollar success story?”
“Success isn’t just about money.”
“Easy to say when you’ve never had to do without.”
“I don’t have a lot of money. And I’ve never asked my family for any.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he said, frustrated. The woman could make a saint see red. “But you didn’t go into business to lose money did you?”
She stopped, blinking. “Of course not.”
“So do it your way. But it has to draw in customers.”
“That’s a given,” she said.
“If it stays the same it won’t.”
“I said I was ready to make changes,” she said.
“Just – God forbid! Not Starbucks.”
He was mocking her now. She could see a smile lurking just below the surface.
She gave him a little push. “Laugh if you want. But if I wanted Starbucks, I’d have bought a franchise.”
“But you are going to serve coffee?”
“Of course. But not fifty varieties in every conceivable combination. Half the time you can’t even tell it’s coffee anymore when you order from something there.”
“Is there going to be anything besides coffee?”
“Tea. Smoothies. With real fruit and real juice. And baked goods.”
“How about ice-cream?”
She shook her head. “Too close to Mae Belles. Maybe fresh fruit ices.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I think Dan’s an ice-cream man, not an ice-man.”
“Dan’s a coffee man. With Danish or a piece of pie.”
