Page 15 of A Good Egg

He stepped closer, his hazel eyes intense. "Is it fair to risk everything on a business venture with minimal chance ofsuccess? The café might fail, Maisie. Then you lose everything anyway, but without the cushion my offer would provide you and Nora."

His words struck too close to my own midnight fears, which only fueled my anger. "You don't know that it will fail."

"And you don't know it will succeed," he countered. "I've seen the numbers. Even if The Little Red Hen is immediately profitable—which almost no new restaurant is—you're unlikely to generate enough revenue in time to satisfy the bank."

"So I should just give up? Surrender my family's legacy without a fight?" I stepped closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive. "That might be how you operate, Westbrook, but it's not how I'm wired."

The intensity between us shifted, the anger suddenly laced with something more--magnetic. His eyes dropped briefly to my lips before returning to meet my gaze.

"Have you even read my offer yet?”

I hadn't. The envelope sat unopened in my dresser drawer, a temptation I refused to acknowledge. "I don't need to read it to know our decision."

"That's called willful blindness, Maisie." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "At least know what you're turning down."

"I know what I'm fighting for," I countered, lifting my chin. "Do you? Beyond commissions and promotions, what are you really chasing, Logan? What makes all this worth it?"

Something vulnerable flashed in his eyes before he masked it. "We're not discussing me."

"Convenient deflection." I took a step back, needing distance from his disconcerting presence. "Let me show you something."

I turned and walked toward the barn, not waiting to see if he followed. The large double doors stood open, revealing the transformation inside. Piper and Carter paused in their work, eyeing Logan warily as he entered behind me.

"This," I said, gesturing to the space taking shape, "is more than a business venture. It's a statement that small, local, and traditional still have value in a world obsessed with bigger and newer."

The barn interior glowed in the afternoon light—walls partially painted in warm yellows and creamy whites, the old wooden floors being sanded to reveal their natural beauty. Red-and-white checkered fabric had been tacked up as makeshift curtains. Rustic shelving lined one wall, awaiting displays of farm-fresh products.

"We're using salvaged materials where possible," I continued, warming to my subject. "Local labor, sustainable practices. The menu will feature eggs from our hens, produce from our fields, herbs from Gram's garden. We'll source other ingredients from neighboring farms. It's about community, not corporations."

Logan moved slowly through the space, taking it all in with an assessing gaze that missed nothing—the second-hand equipment, the corners where work had barely begun, the ambitious scope of what we were attempting.

"It's impressive," he admitted finally. "More progress than I expected."

"But still doomed to fail, right?" I challenged.

Instead of answering, he pointed to the far corner. "Your electrical panel needs upgrading if you're installing commercial kitchen equipment. And that plumbing rough-in isn't up to code for a food service establishment."

"I—what?" I blinked, caught off guard by the specific technical feedback.

"Before I specialized in acquisitions, I oversaw several restaurant developments," he explained. "Including renovations of historic structures. You'll need a grease trap, proper ventilation, fire suppression system—"

"We're handling it," I interrupted, though my mind was racing through the new list of expensive necessities he'd identified.

He nodded, but his expression remained skeptical. "And your permits? Health department inspections?"

"In process." Another worry to add to my mountain.

"If I wanted to eat Easter brunch here," he pressed, "would I be sitting at an actual table, or these sawhorses?"

My patience snapped. "Why are you doing this? Trying to discourage me? Highlighting everything that's not done yet?"

"I'm trying to help you see reality," he said, his voice maddeningly calm. "This isn't about crushing your dreams, Maisie. It's about preventing you from crashing and burning with nothing to show for it."

"How noble," I spat. "The vulture claims he's saving the dying animal from suffering."

Something hardened in his expression. "You know, not everyone with a different perspective than yours is automatically the villain. Sometimes the most painful advice is the most valuable."

"And sometimes," I countered, "the person who stands to profit from your failure isn't the best source of objective advice."

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