Chapter 8
1123words
I nodded, imagining the flow of the space. "We could use movable partitions so we can change the layout as needed. More display space for art exhibitions, more seating during busy coffee periods."
We sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by sketches, budget sheets, and business plans. Since that power outage night a month ago, everything had changed. Not just our relationship—which had indeed evolved from roommates to something much more intimate—but also our vision for the future.
Alexander's idea for an art café had developed from a vague concept into a concrete plan. We'd spent countless evenings researching, planning, and dreaming, gradually turning the idea into a possible reality.
"I talked to the landlord today," Alexander said, sipping his coffee. "He's willing to consider our proposal. The rent is higher than we anticipated, but he agreed to waive the first two months if we do the renovations ourselves."
"That still leaves one big question," I pointed out. "Startup capital. We need at least thirty thousand to get started, even for the most basic setup."
Alexander sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I've been researching small business loans. With our current financial situation, getting approved will be difficult but not impossible. We have Margie's recommendation letter, my work record there, plus your artwork is starting to sell..."
"But it's still a huge risk," I added.
"The best things in life usually are." He took my hand. "Emma, I believe we can do this. Your artistic talent and my business experience are the perfect combination."
I looked at the plans before us, feeling both excited and terrified. Starting a business was one thing, but starting one with your partner was something else entirely. What if it failed? What if it ruined everything between us?
"What are you worried about?" Alexander asked softly, reading my expression.
"What if it fails?"
"Then we learn and try something else."
"What if it affects our relationship?"
He thought for a moment. "That's a valid concern. But I think we can establish clear boundaries. Work time is work, personal time is personal. We can define our roles and responsibilities clearly."
"That sounds very rational," I commented.
"I can be rational," he smiled, "at least about some things. About others..." he leaned forward to kiss me lightly, "...not so much."
I laughed, some of the tension dissipating. "Alright, let's do this. But we need a solid plan, not just for the business but for how to work together without killing each other."
"Deal."
Over the next few days, we refined our business plan. Alexander handled the financial and operational aspects, while I focused on the creative and design elements. We decided to name it "Canvas & Cup," a name that represented both art and coffee.
"We need to apply for a small business loan," Alexander announced one afternoon, putting down the phone. "I just spoke with a bank manager who's willing to meet with us."
"Really?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes. Apparently, Margie gave us a glowing recommendation. She told him how I turned her café around and how your art increased her revenue."
I felt a wave of gratitude. Margie had been our champion, even though she knew our new café would, in some ways, compete with hers.
"What do we need to prepare?"
"Detailed business plan, financial projections, our personal financial records," he listed, "and something to prove the viability of our concept."
"Like what?"
"Like photos of your artwork, sales records, maybe a small display showing the atmosphere we want to create."
I nodded, thinking. "I could create a model showing what the space would look like. Maybe some sample menu designs and branding concepts too."
Alexander smiled, pride shining in his eyes. "This is why we'll succeed. You always think of creative solutions."
We spent two weeks preparing for the bank meeting, barely sleeping. Alexander refined the financial projections, while I created detailed visual presentations, including a miniature model of the café, menu designs, and even sketches for employee uniforms.
On the day of the meeting, we were both nervous. Alexander wore his only suit—one of the few items he'd brought from his Barrett life—while I chose an outfit that was professional but still artistic.
"Ready?" he asked as we stood outside the bank.
"Not entirely," I answered honestly, "but let's do this."
The meeting went better than I expected. The bank manager, a middle-aged man named Mr. Thompson, showed genuine interest in our plan. He asked sharp but fair questions, which Alexander answered with calm professionalism.
When I presented the visual concept for the café, I noticed Mr. Thompson's expression soften.
"It's an interesting concept," he admitted. "Our community could use a place like this."
Leaving the bank, we both felt cautiously optimistic.
"He said he'd get back to us within a week," Alexander said. "That's faster than I expected."
"Do you think we have a chance?"
"I think we have a good chance. Our plan is solid, our projections are conservative, and we have Margie's recommendation."
We walked back to the apartment, discussing next steps. Even while waiting for the bank's decision, we decided to start looking for equipment and furniture, researching suppliers, and drafting possible menus.
That evening, as we relaxed on the couch, Alexander suddenly grew quiet.
"What is it?" I asked, noticing his thoughtful expression.
"I was just thinking... what my father would make of all this."
I turned to him, surprised he'd brought up his father. Since their argument, Alexander rarely spoke of his family.
"Do you miss them? Your family?"
He considered for a moment. "Yes, I do. Not the lifestyle, but them. Despite all the problems, they're still my family."
"Have you thought about contacting them?"
"Sometimes." He admitted. "But every time I consider calling my father, I remember his ultimatum. He wants me to go back to my old life, give up... all of this." He squeezed my hand. "Give up you."
I leaned against his shoulder, contemplating this complicated situation. "Maybe someday he'll understand. Understand that you need to forge your own path."
"Maybe." Alexander said uncertainly. "But for now, I'm focused on our future. Canvas & Cup will be our legacy, not Barrett's."
I smiled, kissing his cheek, moved by his determination. But deep down, I worried that his estrangement from his family would eventually become a regret. No matter how successful our café might be, family still mattered.
For the moment, though, I chose to focus on the hope and possibilities before us. We were creating something of our own, and that was a powerful, beautiful thing.
