Page 8 of Tripped By Love
“How can I help you?” I asked, keeping my smile plastered on.
“I think…we might be able to help each other,” he responded.
That did wipe my smile away, but he didn’t seem to notice it. Instead, he waved to the seat across from him. “Please, won’t you sit and give me five minutes of your time? I know it’s your morning rush, so I won’t keep you long.”
His glance took in the full tables and the line waiting outside. The weekends might have been our busiest time, but Friday mornings weren’t far off. Locals came in before work or school, and tourists, who’d come for the apple blossom season, showed up excited to kick off their long weekends.
I slid into the other side of the booth.
“The recipes you use to make your food, are they yours? Or do you have a chef who creates them for you?” he asked.
“They’re mine,” I told him.
“You haven’t borrowed them from someone else? Used something one of your line cooks have created?”
I shook my head, eyes narrowing. Was someone suing me, thinking I stole their recipe?
“They’re mine,” I said, unable to keep the note of defensiveness from my tone.
“That’s good. Very good.” He smiled, reached into the inside pocket of his suit, opened a little case, and took out a business card. “My name is Lance Ralley, and I own Earth Paradise Distributions.”
The name jiggled at the back of my brain, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“We’re a growing health food company. We produce, market, and sell alternative and earth-conscious food items to grocery stores around the globe. Do you knowWandering World Chips?”
I nodded. They were a potato chip alternative made from turnips and other vegetables. Air fried. Made from ingredients supposedly grown on sustainable farms. They sold off shelves as fast as they came in because the production was so limited.
“Well, I’d like to discuss the possibility of buying your recipes for distribution. Maybe create an entire line based on your Golden Heart menu.” He waved his hand at the half-eaten food on the table. “The pomegranate-and-acai coffee cake was fantastic, as well as the soy chorizo quiche. And those s’more cookies…out of this world.”
I stared at him, trying to put his words into some sort of order in my brain.
“I don’t understand,” I finally said. “We’re a tiny restaurant. There’s no way we could make enough for you to sell to grocery stores.”
He chuckled and nodded as if I was a small child in need of soothing. I’d done it myself when Chevelle was frustrated with something he couldn’t do.
“Right. We’d buy the recipe and produce it in my facilities.”
My heart thudded. He wanted to buy my recipes? Just the idea of it was overwhelming. I had no idea how to negotiate something like this or if I even should. What were the downsides to it? What could go wrong? He seemed to read my reticence and pushed forward.
“You’d be involved every step of the way, of course. Any changes we needed to make to the original recipe to produce it for a mass market would have to be approved by you. We’d use the Golden Heart name, and you’d have a say in the branding. We’d give you a one-time fee for the recipe purchase and negotiate a percentage of the products sold from there.”
It sounded like…someone’s dream. Maybe not mine, but someone’s. To have the food they created become a household name sold around the world. I didn’t have those kinds of dreams. I had dreams about cooking for the people and the town I loved. His offer sounded…big. Like it would take time I already didn’t have. That might cut into my already precious hours with my son. But a whispered thought filtered into my conscience.You might be able to pay Bradyback.
When I still hadn’t said anything, Lance chuckled. “I can see I’ve left you speechless. But my offer is legitimate and heartfelt. You’re one of the first farm-to-market, health-centered restaurants I’ve wanted to come back to in a very long time.”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked, stunned.
“Once a month for the last three months.”
I didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t mean a thing. During the two tourist seasons, which were centered around the apple trees blossoming and then later in the fall around harvest, people flooded the town and the restaurant. I’d never be able to keep their faces straight even if I didn’t spend the majority of my time in the kitchen while my staff handled the floor.
“I’m not asking you to agree to anything right here and now,” he continued. “I’d like to set up a meeting with you, your investors, your lawyers, and my team.”
“I’m not sure…” I wavered, even though I couldn’t articulate what was actually holding me back.
“I understand it’s a lot to take in. Is there a number I can call other than the restaurant’s main line?” he asked.
I eyed him, trying to decide if I should give a complete stranger my cell phone number. He never lost his smile, even while I gave him continued silence. Instead, he stood, placing cash on the table next to his bill.
