Page 83 of Friends Don't Kiss

If we’re doing thisare the words that ring on repeat in my head. Hell yeah we’re doing this. And since she wants the next date to be about me, I know exactly where to take her.

thirty

Kiara

I’mstillonahigh from my visit with Annabel. She was the epitome of generous, and fun, and knowledgeable. I want to be her when I grow up.

How do I do that?

I already applied to the training in France, and I don’t know of any other opportunities that would offer me this level of education without having to pay a cent; I only need to sit tight and wait on their answer. “The only reason they might not accept you is if they have a lot of stellar applications this time around, and it turns into eeny meeny miny moe,” Annabel had said during our time together. “They’re going to love everything you have to offer. Especially once I tell them all about you!”

I protested about her putting in a good word for me, but honestly? I was thrilled, and so was Colton. He winked at me when she said that, and I could have kissed him right then and there for being so happy for me. This date turned into way more than I ever thought any date could ever be.

Despite Annabel’s apparent sense of certainty over my prospects, the visit with her triggered something else. Something more primal, more essential, something I’ve been trying to have but never achieved. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Maybe I didn’t believe in it hard enough to have it: my own space.

I would make it as welcoming as Annabel’s. Not as big and luxurious, of course—I couldn’t afford it and wouldn’t need or know what to do with it. But somethingmine. With my personality. Where people would want to come and taste confections and discuss something truly unique that I would make for them.

At the incubator I attended with Colton and others from Emerald Creek, they asked us ourwhy. I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember the question. It’s been quietly growing around me, taunting me:Why?Sometimes:Why bother? Sometimes:Why not?

I’m sure what Colton remembers from my answer (and by the way, he remembers?!) is an accurate representation of my thoughts, then and now: Creating sweetness in the world. But that’s not specific enough.

Since I came back from Annabel’s, these thoughts are becoming less abstract. Less of a pun and more of a reality that’s almost tangible. If I could stay in Emerald Creek, I would give my community nourishment that is sweet and beautiful. I would continue partnerships with restaurants and the bakery, but the heart of my contribution would be a space that would feel precious and beautiful, a delicate cocoon in the hills of Vermont.

Numbers collide in my brain, as my thoughts stray from big-picture vision to granular implementation. I’m suddenly excited by the possibilities, surprising myself as I open a realtor app and scroll through listings.

It’s as if taking the risk of dating Colton has given me the energy and faith I needed to go after my dreams and take ownership of my future.

As I make a mental note of the different options I’m seeing and the rents posted, I decide to also book an appointment with Emma. Willow is right, I need her help to figure things out.

A listing catches my eye. The barn at Dewey’s Hollow, that was supposed to be sold to Californians who wanted to move it piece by piece to the West Coast.

I know where it’s located. Off a dirt road, but close enough to the village, it’s in an idyllic, bucolic setting. There’s even a small brook nearby, but with the barn uphill from it, the risk of flooding in case of heavy rain seems remote.

I click on the listing, and immediately fall in love with the interior, which I’d never seen. It seems renovated with what looks like a commercial kitchen, and exposed post and beam in the main room. The price is too low to be true. I go to close the app and make a note of it in my notebook when a chat box opens, asking me if I want to book a visit with Maddie Parker—the listing agent.

I’m not ready to buy anything, but what’s the harm in looking around, being informed, and knowing the market for when I’m ready?

I click yes and add a note.Can we talk first?

Minutes later, I’m on the phone with Maddie.

I open my conversation with her by telling her I’m not ready to buy yet.

“Look, you’re doing the smart thing. And no, don’t worry about wasting my time,” she says, answering my apology. “It’s super slow right now, and I’m going stir crazy. I’d love to show you the barn. Are you free around lunchtime?”

The barn is even cuter than I remember. In traditional red, it stands out against the snow. Fairy lights are strung around the windows, giving it a festive air. The walkway from the parking lot has been cleared of snow, and large flagstones curve elegantly to the entrance.

The inside is smaller than the pictures led me to believe—which is perfect. I don’t need a huge space. Don’t want to have to pay for it and heat it.

Maddie greets me in a whiff of apples and cinnamon—a trick from any realtor’s book, I’m sure, but still, it works. I immediately feel at home here. And when I start baking, the smells will be even more enticing.

Dammit. I’m already thinking as if I had the place.

“So—what do you think?” Maddie asks me ten minutes later, as I run my hand on the prep table.

I take a deep breath. “It’s so nice. It would be perfect for me, but as I told you on the phone, it’s too early for me to buy anything. But I appreciate you giving me a tour.”

She sits on one of the two barstools at the kitchen counter. “Well, let’s look at some numbers. The owners are open to considering a lease. They really want someone to breathe life back into the barn.”

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