Page 45 of The Christmas Blueprint

Sophia awkwardly turned back to face the empty building. Usually so many visions filled her head—opportunities for vendors, small entrepreneurs, pop-up restaurants, events—but today all she saw was a vast gray, dingy emptiness with Killian’s magnificent torso superimposed on her retinas. What was wrong with her? She’d seen many naked men in her studio art classes in college. Enrique had been very fit and not shy.

She closed her eyes. But the wave of sorrow didn’t come. The punch of guilt for feeling alive, for planning for the future didn’t hit.

Then Killian was beside her again. He wore a light blue T under a navy wool sweater with a zip neckline that was open. “The trailer was fun. Harlow and I made s’mores in the toaster oven, which she was keen on. I think she’s slightly less skeptical of my abilities. She loved camping, but I think I’m going to take Riley up on her offer to stay at her house this month. She’s got a comfy couch, and Harlow can have the spare bedroom.”

“Can’t you take Riley’s room? She’s mostly at Zhang’s.”

“Don’t want to put her in an awkward situation. It’s her home. I camp a lot. And have been known to fall asleep at my workstation at the office, take a shower at my gym, and start all over again. This trailer or Riley’s couch will be fine, and I want Harlow to have her privacy—a space that’s hers. I rented an apartment on Mt. Ashland Street that’s available after the first of the year.”

Sophia nodded. “I brought you a few croissants from Running Fox. They had only one twice-baked almond croissant left, and I am magnanimously giving it to you.” She’d kept the bag under her coat so it avoided most of the sog.

“Now that’s really making me suspicious,” he said. “Let’s split it, and you can tell me your thoughts about this behemoth. I’ve been doing a lot of research these past couple of days, looking into similar projects and market trends and driving around Bear Creek to note the changes in the past fifteen years—not that many.”

She must have been staring, mouth open, because Killian laughed and hooked his index finger under her chin and closed it with a pop.

“What, you thought I went to school just to check out the fine women at the University of Washington and kayak through the Montlake Cut?”

She felt herself flush. She had sort of imagined him taking advantage of the active Seattle urban and nature lifestyle with beautiful, fit coeds while occasionally sliding into the back of a lecture hall.

“So, spit it out, Soph.” Killian took the pastry bag she still clutched, dug out the almond croissant, casually tore it in two, handed her one half and then immediately took a big bite. “Because all I see is a lot of space and not the business market to support the rent the city led by the indulged, grasping, king in his own mind, narcissistic Mayor Bane is going to want to demand.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sophia took abite of the almond croissant, her lips pursed softly, and her eyes closed, leaving him looking at cheekbones that were as chiseled as Smith Rock and long, dark, feathery lashes. Killian swore she hummed. Not fair. He was trying to keep this all business, and this was his thanks? She looked like she was beginning to crest toward a…no. He would not think that word or visualize that thought. That word and Sophia would never once meet in his reality.

Enrique. Enrique. Enrique.

Lucky bastard.

But as Sophia kept reminding him, Enrique was gone, and she was alive.

But I’m leaving in a year.

She’d never come with him. Not ever.

And he couldn’t stay. Too many ghosts. Too many memories. He’d barely managed visits home. He’d ended up word-wrestling with his father so fiercely that he’d leave within days just to get his mind straight again. He’d hated that his father had called him a disappointment, but he hadn’t been willing to give up his dreams to placate the old man.

“Follow me,” Sophia said, jolting him out of his reverie.

Killian took another bite to keep his mouth busy so he couldn’t say something evocatively stupid like ‘anywhere.’

Sophia walked farther into the building and hit several switched lights on two different panels.

Killian had seen the vintage-looking industrial lighting. Riley had shown him how it worked and where the fuse boxes were. Sophia looked up at the ceiling of exposed old-growth beams that had been pressure-washed clean but still clung to the patina of history.

“This is a glorious space.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking: cavernous.

“I see so many options.”

That was true, but he must have looked dumb because Sophia’s voice took on more of a hypnotic urgency.

“I see opportunity for many shared spaces. Creative spaces. A marketplace of ideas. Services. Experience. Products.”

Now she had his attention. “Mill Market,” he said softly.

“Imagine that you walk into the building—and I think we should have several entrances to entice people in—and there is a coffee shop there.” She gestured to a spot off to the left toward a back wall that had a boarded-up door. “But in the afternoon, it becomes a bar for a few nights a week—cocktails, perhaps mixology classes with different bartenders from Portland or San Francisco coming in to draw more of a tourist crowd. Maybe there’s a distillery or a coffee roaster. We should definitely add a commercial kitchen, but instead of one restaurant struggling to pay rent, perhaps two or three are sharing the space, alternating days or times. Maybe the culinary school in Medford could use this space as part of their training program, debut new chefs, or pop-up kitchens or special food and wine dinners with local vintners. And that’s just the beginning.”

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