Chapter 92: Building it together

Once Rosalie decided what she wanted, the house changed with her.

The transformation wasn’t dramatic enough for an outsider to notice immediately.

No walls came down.

No contractors arrived with demolition equipment.

But sketches began appearing on the dining table.

Rosalie spent mornings walking through rooms she had barely entered since returning home, trying to decide which could eventually become guest rooms and which parts of the house needed to remain completely private.

Alejandro followed with a measuring tape.

"You don’t know how to use that properly," Rosalie told him.

"I know numbers."

"That isn’t the same as measuring curtains."

"I ran a company."

"You ran Vance Holdings."

"Exactly."

"Did Vance Holdings sell curtains?"

"No."

"Then move."

Alejandro moved.

He was enjoying himself far too much to argue.

They settled on three possible guest rooms on one side of the house, each far enough from the family bedrooms to provide privacy.

The old sitting room near the veranda could eventually become a small cafe.

Not immediately.

Rosalie wanted to start with fewer tables than the room could actually hold.

"I don’t want people packed together."

"That lowers revenue."

"I know."

Alejandro looked over.

She added, "I want people comfortable enough to stay."

"That could increase revenue."

"See?"

"You’re already manipulating the accountant."

"I learned from you."

He smiled.

The more they planned, the more natural talking became.

Not about Ben.

Not about the years Rosalie had been gone.

Not even about Augustus.

Those conversations still needed to happen occasionally, but they no longer sat between every sentence.

Now they argued about window tables.

Whether breakfast should stop at ten or ten-thirty.

How many kinds of bread Rosalie could reasonably produce without waking at two in the morning.

Alejandro insisted six.

Rosalie wanted ten.

They compromised at eight.

That probably meant Rosalie would eventually make nine.

Alejandro knew better than to point this out.

Alexander noticed the change the next weekend.

He arrived at the ancestral home, and Tomas Reyes, the household’s longtime steward, met him at the door.

"Sir, Alex."

Alex stepped inside.

"Tomas."

"Your parents are on the veranda."

"Arguing?"

"Discussing."

Alexander looked at him.

Tomas lowered his voice.

"Your mother is winning."

"Then arguing."

"I said nothing."

The Shih Tzus heard him before Rosalie and Alejandro did.

Three small bodies came tearing across the hall with enough enthusiasm to suggest Alex had been gone for several years rather than a week.

He bent to greet them.

"Yes, yes. I abandoned all of you."

One dog immediately climbed halfway up his leg.

"Apparently."

By the time Alexander reached the veranda, Alejandro was holding a calculator while Rosalie stood over several handwritten pages.

They both looked up.

"Perfect timing," Rosalie said.

Alex stopped.

"That sounds dangerous."

"Sit."

"Definitely dangerous."

Alejandro pointed toward the empty chair.

"Your mother has decided we need an espresso machine."

"We do."

"You don’t even have customers."

"We will."

Alexander sat.

"I’ve brought reinforcements."

Both parents looked at him.

He placed a folder on the table.

"Preliminary bakery equipment list."

Rosalie’s face brightened.

"From Giovanni?"

"Yes."

Alejandro reached for it.

Alex pulled it back.

"For Mom."

"I’m paying."

"For Mom."

Rosalie took it triumphantly.

Alejandro looked betrayed.

"This is my investment."

"And apparently my list."

She opened the folder.

Giovanni had kept it simple.

No brand recommendations yet.

No unnecessarily expensive commercial systems.

Just categories based on what Rosalie had described.

Deck or convection oven options.

Spiral and planetary mixers.

Proofing cabinets.

Refrigeration.

Display cases.

Work tables.

Bread racks.

Basic coffee equipment.

Packaging space.

Suggested capacity ranges based on a small startup, not a full commercial bakery.

Rosalie read carefully.

"He wrote notes."

"Of course he did."

One note beside the oven section read:

Decide volume before equipment. Bigger is not automatically better.

Alejandro nodded approvingly.

"Sensible."

Another:

Do not buy anything until menu is finalized.

Rosalie frowned.

"Less sensible."

Alexander laughed.

"He anticipated you."

She continued.

At the bottom, Giovanni had added:

If the guest-room plan continues, treat kitchen flow and guest breakfast flow separately. Otherwise, both will annoy you before 8 A.M.

Rosalie looked up.

"I like him."

Alexander paused.

"You’ve known him since he was a child."

"I like him more now."

Alejandro leaned toward the folder.

"So do I."

Alex looked between them.

"This is becoming alarming."

Rosalie ignored him.

"We need him here."

"For?"

"To look at the space."

Alexander raised a brow.

"He runs construction and logistics. Not bakeries personally."

"He owns two food businesses."

"That apparently makes him universally qualified."

"Yes."

Alejandro nodded.

"Your mother has spoken."

Apparently so.

Giovanni arrived later that morning.

He hadn’t been part of the visit originally.

Alexander had texted him the night before asking one question about the mixer capacities.

Giovanni had responded by asking what Rosalie’s projected batch size was.

Alexander didn’t know.

So Giovanni came himself.

At least, that was his explanation.

Rosalie accepted it without question.

Alexander did not.

"You drove all the way out here because I couldn’t answer one question?"

"It was an important question."

"It was dough."

"Exactly."

Alex stared.

Giovanni stared back.

Alejandro walked past them.

"Stop flirting with the mixer and come inside."

Both men went silent.

Alejandro continued walking as though he’d said nothing unusual.

Rosalie, following behind him, covered a smile.

Alexander looked at Giovanni.

"He meant arguing."

"Obviously."

"Clearly."

Neither sounded convinced.

The discussion lasted less than an hour.

Giovanni didn’t take over.

That mattered.

He asked Rosalie what she wanted to produce first.

What volume she imagined.

Whether breakfast was intended only for overnight guests or walk-in customers too.

How many days a week she wanted to operate.

Then he told her which decisions needed to come before equipment purchases.

"This is your business," Giovanni said. "Don’t build the kitchen around a machine you haven’t bought yet."

Rosalie nodded.

"What would you do?"

"Start smaller than you think."

Alejandro smiled.

"I’ve been saying that."

"She trusts him," Alex observed.

"I noticed."

Giovanni continued, "You can expand. It’s harder to justify equipment sitting unused."

Rosalie looked through the list again.

"Will you help once we finalize the menu?"

"If you want."

"We do."

Alejandro added, "But you’re billing us."

Giovanni shook his head.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Alejandro folded his arms.

"I don’t take free professional work."

Giovanni glanced toward Alexander.

"Your son does."

Alex looked offended.

"I offered dinner."

"For consultation worth significantly more than dinner."

"Your food margins are excellent."

"That isn’t the point."

Rosalie laughed.

The sound made Alejandro look at her.

Not because it was unusual anymore.

Because it was becoming ordinary again.

He liked that better.

By lunchtime, the discussion had wandered beyond equipment into renovations, parking, guest access, staffing, and whether three Shih Tzus counted as part of the hospitality experience.

"They do," Rosalie insisted.

"One of them bit my trouser leg," Giovanni said.

"He likes you."

"That’s affection?"

"In this house."

Alexander nodded solemnly.

"He’s practically family now."

Giovanni stared at the dog.

"I preferred sandwiches."

The dog barked.

"Apparently he heard you."

After lunch, Alejandro gathered the papers.

"That’s enough business."

Giovanni looked relieved.

Alexander stood.

"Ride?"

Giovanni looked toward the barn.

"You still owe me."

"I already paid you once."

"That was for the roof."

"And this?"

"Equipment consultation."

"You said it was free."

"Changed my mind."

Alexander laughed.

"Fine."

Rosalie looked between them.

"Take food."

"We just ate."

"You’ll get hungry."

"We’re not sixteen."

"That has never stopped you before."

She packed apples and several slices of fresh bread anyway.

Alejandro handed the small bag to Alex.

"You might as well accept it."

"I know."

The horses were already being prepared when they reached the barn.

Beyond the pasture, the old river waited.

So did a version of their lives that had existed before titles, companies, weddings that never happened, and fathers whose unfinished stories had followed their sons into adulthood.

For the next few hours, none of those things needed to matter.