Page 47 of The Second Chance Year

My gaze slides around the room from the piano on the wood stage to the blue paint on the display cases rescued from an old five-and-dime in upstate New York. This place could easily be featured in a magazine. Zoe’s wife, Natalie, is an interior designer, and she put careful thought into every little detail, like the whitewashed exposed brick walls that contrast with the dark wood furniture, the warm pendant lighting that gives each table an intimate feel, and the quirky orange and turquoise accents. There’s even a wall of succulents growing behind the stage that I have no idea how Zoe keeps alive, but apparently, she has a magic touch with both people and plants.

“You know, Zoe…” I lean on the counter and look at her. “My ex-boyfriend Alex used to take me to swanky cocktail parties with his clients, and rarely were they in spaces as nice as this.”

“It’s all Natalie’s doing,” she says with more than a hint of pride in her voice over her wife’s decorating skills.

“When you walk around Williamsburg, every coffee shop looks the same. They’re either leather chesterfields and reclaimed wood, or they’re mismatched furniture and…” I laugh. “Well, and reclaimed wood. This place is beautiful and unique.”

“Thanks,” Zoe says with her signature warm smile. “I really appreciate that.”

“So, it occurred to me that on the nights that you close early, you could do private events here.”

Zoe’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah? Hmmm.”

I nod, getting into the idea. “I bet there are hundreds of companies around Williamsburg that would love a space like this to host clients or parties for their employees.”

Zoe gazes around the room. “You really think people would pay money just to host a party here?”

“Absolutely.”

“What do you think I could charge for something like that?” Zoe flips open her laptop.

I name a price and she nearly drops her coffee mug.“Really?”

“That’s just for the space. José Luis is always looking to work extra shifts. He could bartend, and if you apply for a liquor license, you could make a lot of money on wine and maybe a couple of signature cocktails. I could help you apply for one.” Working in the restaurant industry, I have a little bit of experience with this. “And there’s food, too. Cheese plates or—”

“Dessert.”Zoe cuts me off. “We could offer Higher Grounds coffee-and-dessert–themed parties. Cold-brew martinis with club soda and orange. Earl Grey old-fashioneds. And a spread of your amazing cakes and tarts.”

“I love it!”

She starts typing on her laptop, jotting down all of our ideas. “If I could book some parties, would you be willing to make the pastries?”

“Yes!” I have no idea how I’ll fit that in on top of the increasing demands at Xavier’s and my gig making the regular pastries here. But I’ll figure it out. Once I’m the executive pastry chef at Xavier’s, I’ll have an assistant and a whole team to help me execute my vision there.

Zoe looks up from the laptop and puts her chin in her hand. “How would we get the word out, though?”

I wish I could call Kasumi. With her social media skills, she’d know exactly how to promote something like this. But I keep calling, and she keeps sending me to voicemail.

If I were still with Alex, I’d try to get his firm to host a party here, but then I remember douchey Brett, aka Mr. “I don’t leave Manhattan.” I’m not sure the Wall Street–types would be willing to come out to Brooklyn anyway. But maybe—

“Zoe, I have a great idea. My brother’s thirtieth birthday is coming up. I could throw him a party here. We’ll invite all his friends at the tech company and that bar where he hangs out. They all have expendable income, and maybe some of them would be interested in a space to host parties.” The fact that I still have my job means I can afford the cost of pastry ingredients and alcohol if Zoe can cover the staff.

I’ve celebrated my brother’s thirtieth once before—during my Very Bad Year. I took him to dinner and then to Blackbird for drinks. This is such a better idea. He deserves a big celebration, and Higher Grounds is the perfect place for it. The onlyproblem is that I’ll probably have to coordinate with Jacob. HeisOwen’s best friend after all.

And then, like he knew I was thinking of him, Jacob walks in.

We’ve managed to avoid each other for the past few weeks, but I’ve been coming into the café at less regular times, so I guess this was going to happen at some point. It’s fine. I can be a mature adult about this. I am one hundred percent not thinking about how he’s stroked my thigh or kissed my neck. And my body temperature isnotrising at the sight of those beautiful hands that were all over my—

Nope. Not thinking about it.

I’m suddenly intent on rearranging the display of muffins in the case.

“Jacob, hey!” Zoe says, hopping off her chair to go around the counter and grab a cup for his café Americano. “Sadie was just telling me about an idea she has to use Higher Grounds as a space for private events on the nights we close early. As a way to bring in extra income.”

I keep my head down and shuffle muffins from one side of the case to the other.

Zoe explains to Jacob about the desserts and coffee cocktails. When she’s done talking, he glances in my direction. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Thanks.” My voice comes out breathless. “I thought we could hold Owen’s thirtieth birthday party here. You know, to try it out.”

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