Swirling the remains of my coffee in the cup, I thought about it. “Hard to say. I mean, The Sugar House does well. It’s always busy. In fact, it can be really hard to get in there sometimes. They don’t take reservations, and it’s not that big. Long waits on the weekend.”
“Right.”
“You know,” I said, setting my cup down. “It could work, Lucas. I could help you.”
“Yeah?” His eyebrows arched. “How so?”
“I have a business degree, experience designing all kinds of events as well as running them, and I know the city. I could help you research the best location, plan the décor, build buzz, stage an opening event…and you’ve got bar experience.” I bounced in my seat a little. The more I said, the more excited I got. “I could even work for you, hostess or something. This way, I’m not totally abandoning my business. Coco could take on a more active role at Devine Events while we get your place off the ground.”
Lucas shrugged. “I guess it’s worth considering. We’ll have to do some serious research though. Sketch out some preliminary plans.”
I flattened my palms on the table with a bang. “Make…some lists?” I shivered. “I think I just had an orgasm.”
Laughing, he picked up his coffee. “I’ll drink to that.”
Scooping mine up too, I clinked it against his. “Do you have a name in mind?”
“Several. But the one I like best relates to the history of absinthe in Paris.”
I winked at him. “God, I love Paris.”
He smiled. “What we call happy hour now, about five PM, was called the green hour in Paris in the late nineteenth century because of all the absinthe consumed during that time. Apparently the wine crop had suffered some kind of plague, so the supply was short. People turned to absinthe instead.”
“A wine plague? Just kill me.”
“Very funny. Anyway, I was thinking about The Green Hour.”
Nodding slowly, I mulled it over. “I like it. I’m thinking about the look of the place. I like the idea of nineteenth century vintage with a Detroit twist. Like Art Nouveau meets industrial chic.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Industrial chic? That’s a thing.”
“It’s totally a thing.”
“God help me.”
We finished our meals and talked a little more about possible locations in Detroit and even outside the city. I liked the idea of keeping it downtown and using a nineteenth century storefront in an old neighborhood, but I knew we had to consider all options. “Lucas, do you have the money to open a place like this?” I asked as we bundled up to face the cold. “I’m not sure what rent is like for those old buildings but it could be pricey.”
He nodded, tying his scarf around his neck. “Not compared to Manhattan, I bet. And I have money saved, plus the Count and Henry want to invest as well.”
“That’s perfect.” We made our way to the exit. “So now what?”
“I guess we start our research.” Lucas pushed the door open for me, and I stepped out into cold, gray morning. Snow was still falling, although today it was big fat flakes, drifting slowly to the ground.
I shivered. “Are we sure we don’t want to consider moving somewhere warmer? Detroit’s just as cold as New York, if not colder.”
Lucas put his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll keep you warm no matter where we are.”
Resting my head briefly on his shoulder, I fell into step with him and slipped an arm around his waist. “So do you want to move into my condo if this works out?”
He kissed my head. “If what works out—you and me?”
“No, silly. The bar in Detroit.”
“Oh, that.”
I hit him in the stomach with my free hand. “Yes, that.”
“I could, if you think it’s big enough.”
“It’s got two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and I like the location. Plus I already own it.” I looked up at him. “When is your lease up?”
“End of May.”
My spirits sank a little—that was three months away. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that long to wait, but I was so excited, I couldn’t help being disappointed that we’d have to wait at all. My reaction must have been transparent, because he squeezed my shoulder.
“Hey. Those three months are gonna fly. And I’ll be coming to Detroit at least two or three times during those months to check things out.”
“I know. I’m just so excited about everything. And impatient!” Laughing, I hopped up and down a little bit. “I want all the good things, and I want them now!”
Lucas laughed too, pulling me in close to kiss my forehead. “You will have all the good things, Mia, I promise. Any of them that I can give you.”
I wanted to make another joke, say something flirty, or even just tell him I’d do the same for him. But my heart had jumped into my throat, and I couldn’t speak. Instead I put my gloved hands over his ears, rose on tiptoe, and pressed my lips to his. We stood kissing on icy cement in bone-chilling cold, snowflakes dusting our wool coats, our hair, our eyelashes.
But our lips were warm.
Six Months Later
On Sunday mornings we slept late. Every other day of the week we were up early. Lucas would head right for The Green Hour to oversee construction, meet with distributors, or interview job applicants, and I’d go in to the Devine Events offices to get as much work done as possible before meeting Lucas in the afternoon to work on the bar’s interior design. Sometimes I had a hard time staying within my budget and needed to be reined in, but Lucas trusted my judgment and usually let me get away with more expensive choices.