Page 9 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

2. I’d have full control over everything. It would mean independence, flexible hours, and no more pressure from my parents to join Pang Food Industries (1,000 points).

2. No steady paycheck—I’d have to rely on my savings for a while, because it could be weeks, months, even years, before the business became profitable (minus 500 points).

The place that I’d had my eye on was on the other side of the country—a beautiful coastal city called Port Benedict, population 29,171, around an hour and a half from Seattle. A recent report in the World Fitness Index listed the place as one of the most health-conscious cities in the United States, stating that over 85 percent of its residents engaged in regular physical activities and were mindful of what they consumed. The healthier lifestyle proved to be attractive to a lot of people, because it was also ranked number seven in the top ten most livable cities in America, while being one of the fastest-growing cities in the country, increasing by a rate that would double the population in eight years.

Which was excellent. More potential customers for my bakery.

I’d also narrowed down my research to a neighborhood that would suit the type of bakery I had in mind. The city was home to a shopping center called Port Benedict Plaza that housed two department stores, seventy-five specialty stores, a food court, two supermarkets, a boutique hotel, and a rooftop entertainment precinct that was home to a multicultural mix of cafés, bars, and restaurants. The location was perfect: the Plaza was within walking distance of downtown Port Benedict and the Waterfront, a bustling tourist strip lined with trendy eateries facing the shores of picturesque Port Benedict Bay. There was only one French pâtisserie in the shopping center, which meant I’d have very little competition.

The specific area that I’d set my sights on was a strip of shops adjacent to the shopping complex. The rent was much more affordable than what it would cost in the main Plaza building, and the vibe was utterly warm and charming. Google Maps showed that it was flanked by rows of tall trees, with cobblestone pavements and renovated brick buildings, housing some of the most chic shops I’d ever seen. There was an art gallery, an antique shop, and a florist. I could just picture a bakery—my bakery—joining those businesses.

I took a long, deep breath.

It was time to take the plunge.

Jumping on a real estate site, I searched for shops for lease at that row of stores. There were only a few available, and after crossing off the ones that were out of my budget, I was left with two final options.

The first one was a spacious corner shop, currently occupied by a secondhand bookstore. It was newly renovated, and sat next to an organic juice and smoothie bar, so what I had planned should fit right in. But the detailed descriptions said the owner strongly preferred businesses wanting to lease the store for a minimum offive years, which wasn’t ideal. What if my brilliant bakery idea turned out to be a flop?

The second, slightly smaller option, looked much more promising. Not only was the rent lower than the first one, but the shopfront also had a gorgeous glass-panel door and wide bay windows. The store was sandwiched in between an adorable yarn store and an old-timey ice-cream parlor, and the best part was, it would be available in two weeks, which was perfect timing-wise, because it would give me plenty of time to organize the move.

A hopeful flutter went through my stomach.This might actually work.

Before I could change my mind or second-guess anything, I sent off an email to the Realtor to enquire about the property. Feeling optimistic, I opened my list-maker app, my brain racing as I put together a list of things to tackle if I was really doing this: pack up my stuff, find a place to live in Port Benedict, and start short-listing suppliers for the bakery.

The oven dinged, just as I finished typing the last item on the list.

I might be jobless, but things were already looking up.

After all, what better way to kick off the new year than starting over thousands of miles away from your controlling family?

CHAPTER 3You Have Arrived at Your Disaster Zone

Three thousand miles, forty hours, three cheap motel rooms, and hundreds of dollars of gas later, I finally arrived in Port Benedict, hungry and exhausted, and for the one-hundred-millionth time, wondering if I’d committed the biggest mistake of my life.

Well, too late to do anything about it now.

The exhaustion that seemed to have taken over my body had evaporated the moment I drove past theWELCOME TO PORT BENEDICTsign. There was a quaint small-town vibe and laid-back charm to the city, contrasted by several high-rise buildings towering in its center. My insides practically vibrated with anticipation at the thought of seeing my new shop; the place where I was supposed to start over, as evidenced by the five suitcases, three duffel bags, the cooler bag for my insulin vials, and seven cardboard boxes crammed inside my car.

My CR-V sputtered, probably feeling the long journey it had just gone through. Eric had warned me it was unwise to drive the twelve-year-old car across the country. But I was on a tightbudget, so upgrading to a newer car was fresh out of the question. And besides, the car was a gift from my father’s parents, my Engkong and Emak, when I first got my license, and now that they were both gone, it was the only thing that reminded me of them.

I took a long sip from my water bottle while eyeing the road for signs to Port Benedict Plaza. I’d been driving since the crack of dawn, only making a quick stop at the Realtor’s office to pick up the keys.

Everything had worked out perfectly. Within forty-eight hours of making my inquiry, I had signed the lease for the shop, then spent the next two weeks packing up my belongings. I’d only told Eric and Naomi where I was going and no one else, not even my parents. And by doing that, I had successfully checked the last item on the Top Three Things That Would Bring Lifelong Disgrace to Your Family: moving across the country to escape my meddling parents.

When I finally reached the Plaza, I circled the busy parking lot twice before finally finding an empty space. Switching the engine off, I took a deep breath, quietly reflecting on what I’d done: left the safety of my family and the city I’d grown up in, relocated to the other side of the country with no familiar faces, and sunk almost all my money into starting a business. It was daunting, but it was a fresh, exciting start to my new life.

I got out of the car and pulled up the directions to the shop on my phone. Walking past the main building, I headed toward the row of shops on the fringes of the shopping complex. The area became quieter, with fewer customers milling around. I kept walking, until my phone quietly announced, “You have arrived at your destination.”

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