Page 13 of Too Sweet

The kitchen opens onto a huge backyard patio with an outdoor kitchen, barbecue, and a brick firepit. A flagstone path leads toward the lake, bordered by an infinity pool with a waterslide, waterfall, and a jacuzzi.

“Shoot, I should have brought my swimsuit,” I say as the men lead us into the covered kitchen area. “This is gorgeous, isn’t it, Harmony?”

My sister cannot resist drooling over the pool. Ever since we were kids, she’s always wanted a swimming pool in the backyard.

“It’s nice,” she says tightly.

Trying to break the ice, I add, “This looks a lot like the one you pinned on your vision board.”

“Vision board, huh?” Cooper says, beaming at Harmony. “Interesting.”

Harmony thinks he’s poking fun, but I don’t think he is. I think Cooper is genuinely interested in what she has to say.

“I went to college on a swim team scholarship,” she says, opening up more than I thought she would.

“Cool! You’ll have to come over and show me how to do the breaststroke.”

Harmony blushes, and I’m sure she’s reading the whole situation wrong again. Well, she knows what’s at stake and she’s a grown adult. If she doesn’t want to be engaging or entertaining, that’s fine. I can handle the sales pitch on my own.

Cooper and Carter prepare a meal fit for royalty: fresh salmon on the grill, asparagus, and fruit cut into a dazzling array of pretty shapes.

Harmony and Cooper wander off to the pool area with their after-dinner drinks to talk about swimming while Carter and I walk down a winding path to a bench overlooking a koi pond.

“Dinner was delicious. You and your brother make an excellent team.”

“Thanks.”

“Harmony and I would return the favor, but I’m afraid we only know how to make dessert.”

Carter blinks at me. “You don’t make the yogurt yourself, though, do you?”

I tell him everything we plan to do for the shop. We have suppliers bringing in raw materials from small family farms in the area, and at least half of our toppings are custom. We bake fruit crumbles and pies with made-from-scratch crusts. We jar our own syrups, compotes, and jams. Cookie pieces and dough come from our own recipes.

“Why put all that work in when you could just order all that?” Carter asks.

“So we can charge more,” I say with a wink.

He laughs.

I add, “But seriously. Would you rather eat homemade pie made with love, or something shipped frozen, made in an anonymous factory?”

“You have a point. So…what’s your business plan?”

Without Harmony here, I have do a lot of digging to remember facts and figures. But fortunately, I brought documentation in my handbag. I always keep a folder with our business plan with me — for opportunities just like this and as a constant reminder that I don’t have room in my life for anything that stands in the way of my dreams.

Carter takes the folder I give him and reads over the business plan for Little Spoon. The next ten minutes while he reads is the longest ten minutes of my life.

“You’re quiet,” I say.

“That’s because I’m nervous,” he replies.

“I don’t know why you’re nervous. I’m the one whose entire future hinges on tonight.”

He looks up from the folder. “Your entire future?”

“Kind of. If we fail at this, I’ll have to find a new career quick. I’m almost too old for bottle service.”

His brow furrows. “Bottle service?”

---