simon_doctor | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's one of Simon's getting-home-early days. He's picked up a few things for dinner on the way home -- he will readily admit that he still isn't much of a cook, but he can handle baked chicken and green salad, and he can make a start on it before Kaylee gets in.

There's another clinic run coming up next month. He's been thinking of taking a few days of vacation sometime after that; maybe he'll bring that up tonight.

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"Dangran." He bends to brush a quick kiss across her cheek in turn. "I'll go finish the salad."

"Ooh," Kaylee says with a grin en route to the bedroom, "getting fancy."

She emerges a few minutes later in a sleeveless shirt and skirt, and wanders into the kitchen, the card tucked into her pocket. "What do I get to do?"

"Want to set the table?" Simon's at the counter, carefully tossing a mixed-greens salad in a wooden bowl.

"I can do that." Off to the cabinet with the plates. "So..."

She's got her back to him.

"Something happened today. At the shop."

"Oh?"

He sets down the salad tongs and turns to put the leftover dressing (a sesame oil vinaigrette) in the fridge.

"Fella from across town said I was cutting into his business too much. Losing customers."

She's keeping her voice carefully blank.

"So he made me an offer. To buy the shop."

He's picking up the salad bowl, to carry it to the table.

There's a pause, and it settles back on the counter with a soft thump.

"An offer." His voice is as uninflected as hers, and for a similar reason.

"It's a handsome one."

She's still.

"Only a little under what I think it's worth. And well over what went into it."

"I see." Quiet; he's leaning against the counter.

"I told him I'd think about it." She turns around; there's something wry in her expression. "He didn't act like a threat was gonna come if I didn't cave. So that's something."

"I ... that was going to be my next question." A rueful sigh. "At least there's that."

Beat.

"So."

"So."

Her turn to turn around and lean against the counter. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd be very surprised if you did decide to sell it," he says, slowly. "Are you thinking you might want to ...?"

"It's an option." Kaylee shrugs. "I don't think I ought to dismiss it."

Pause.

"Simon, we ain't even been open that long and apparently I'm a threat to business. Maybe I ought to be aimin' higher. Or different. If I'm really that good at this."

"Well, we know you are that good." He says it quite matter-of-factly; not so much a compliment as a known datum. "So ... it seems to me it's a question of whether you would want to. And of what kind of higher. Or different."

"I don't want to work for somebody else. I know that much." She says this calmly. "And he didn't sound like he was interested in bringin' me on in any capacity. So with whatever I did -- I'd have to start from scratch. Again."

"Essentially."

The oven timer chimes; Simon reaches for a couple of potholders, and bends to take out the sizzling pan of chicken.

Kaylee moves, as though a spell's been shattered, and carries plates over to the table. "I could buy him out." Thoughtful. "Try to consolidate my empire."

...she's only kidding a little.

"Do you think he'd sell?" Simon rummages for a pair of tongs and a serving platter, sets them on the counter, and moves to the breadbox.

"I think anybody's got their price. 'Specially if he's worried about losing business."

The table by the window overlooks the back yard; the garden is a little overgrown. Kaylee sighs inwardly. Not enough time in the day.

"And I can pay whatever that price might be."

Baguettes: out of the breadbox and into the oven to warm for five minutes, while he transfers the chicken from pan to platter.

"Very likely," he says. "Does that idea sound more appealing than starting something new from scratch?"

She's silent for a moment.

Slowly: "I think it does. I like the idea of an empire. And I like the idea of havin' more time to see to the garden. But I don't... I want to stay in this, you know? I can't just be confined to the house. A balance'd be nice."

"If you do buy him out," he says, tipping the pan to pour the juices over the chicken, "that's likely to mean less leisure time, at least for a short while. There'd be a lot to organize. But after the transition ..."

"After the transition I can work a couple days a week in the shop, do the numbers myself, and maybe we'll finally have a tomato crop worth a good gorram."

A quick flicker of smile at that, as he brings the platter to the table. "Are there any drawbacks to that plan, then? Assuming he takes your counteroffer?"