Page 153 of Good For Me

He reaches across the console and takes my hand. “Buying a bar probably makes the most sense. We both have some experience with that kind of business. Ruby and Dave could help us figure out what we’re doing. Lou, too. The up-front costs wouldn’t be too bad, all we’d have to do is the repair work. And Davie’s is already established, with plenty of regular customers, so we wouldn’t be starting from scratch.”

“Why am I sensing a but coming up?”

“Do you know that the closest indoor skate park is fifteen miles away?”

I freeze, then turn to stare at him. A nearby streetlight illuminates the side of his face, but I can’t read his expression as he looks out at the dark building.

“That’s crazy, right? This is Venice. There should be skate parks all over. But with the exception of Surfside down at the beach—which is all outdoors—there’s not really any place in this neighborhood for skating.”

“You want to open a skate park?”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, staring at the building like he might find the answer on its walls. Finally, he turns to me.

“Like I said, a bar is a safer bet for us.” He squeezes my hands, his blue eyes intense under the streetlight. “Less risk. Fewer up-front costs. We wouldn’t be starting from scratch.” He shakes his head. “But once I started to imagine us starting a business together, something in my brain kept telling me to think bigger. We want to show our kid that it’s possible to make a living doing something we love, right? Well what the hell do we love more than skating?”

“Surfing?” I say stupidly, and River chuckles.

“That’s more my thing. But if you want to learn to surf and start scouring the classifieds for available beach shacks, we can talk about it.” He nudges my shoulder then nods up at the building. “I don’t know, Jas. I can’t get this idea out of my head. With my trust and the money from your grandpa, we definitely have the cash. You have the business degree. Could we make this work?”

“I have no idea what goes into running a skate park. Or building one.” Even as I say the sensible words, I realize that River is right—I can’t get this idea out of my head either. “The hours would be better,” I murmur. “For the baby, I mean. Bar hours would suck.”

“I thought of that too!” he says, looking excited. “Plus we could bring the kid here while we’re working. I don’t think we’d want to do that at a bar.”

“Insurance costs would probably be nuts.”

“True.”

But that warning does little to dampen the excitement growing in my chest. And from the look on River’s face, I can tell he feels the same way.

“Is this insane?” he asks. “It’s probably insane, isn’t it?”

“Kind of,” I say, laughing. “But it also really kicks ass?”

“Right?” He grins at me. “God, Jas, I think it could be so damn cool. I know it would be a ton of work. But I think we’re up for it.”

Goosebumps erupt on my arms at the confidence I hear in his voice. I’ve heard him sound that way a few times before—mainly when he’s talking about our relationship or his determination to take care of the baby. But I’ve never heard him sound nearly so certain when talking about a career. Certain and excited and determined. Like this is truly the thing he can imagine himself doing with his life. Withourlives.

And that makes me want to ignore every warning in my head that this is an insane idea and just leap forward with River. That’s not something I’ve ever been good at—leaping. But somehow it doesn’t sound so scary when I know he’ll be at my side.

He must take my silence as doubt, because he cups a palm around my face. “If this feels like too much, I understand. You’re ten thousand times smarter than me and I trust your opinion. So we could buy the bar, if you think that’s better, or open our own diner, or convince my uncles to let us run an imprint at the label for your shitty techno music—”

“Hey!” I smack his chest and he grabs my hand, bringing it to his face to press a kiss to my palm. “I don’t care too much what we do, Jas. I just want us to do it together. I want us to build a life together. For us and for our baby.”

Well, damn. Now I’m going to cry. It’s not as mortifying as it would have been a few weeks ago, though. I’m starting to understand that letting people in—letting them really see me—doesn’t make me any less independent or capable. Especially when that person is River.

“I want to build a life with you, too,” I tell him, meaning every word. And I can’t fucking wait to get started.