It had been a few years since I stopped by the Nicollet Diner. The place was a downtown dining institution; what they lacked in Michelin stars, they made up for with good food at affordable prices. It was one of the few places where you could get a half-decent burger that wasn't just some variant of a wagyu patty with truffle nonsense.

...Not that I dislike wagyu, mind you.

It was also one of the few places in Minneapolis that would be open past midnight. That was the thought I had when I reached out to one of my closest friends, Benjamin Jones. Local musician, managing partner of The Berget Foundation...and recently, husband to Josephine Berget, my mother. The man practically raised me as his own when my father, Hector, left us all those years ago, and in that time developed a friendship with my mother that blossomed into a healthy romance.

Looking up from my cup of coffee, I spotted Ben coming through the diner door. I knew he would be coming over from his gig at The Dakota, a jazz club just a few blocks away, where his group, The Nice Guys, were regular performers. So it was no surprise to see him in a cream-colored button-up shirt and black slacks. Ben kept his attire simple, aside from the usual charity functions. I waved him over, standing up to shake his hand. "Glad you could meet up, Ben," I said as he took my hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

"What, you still can't call me pops?" Ben replied jokingly as he pulled me into a hug.

Not long after we sat back down, the waitress came by to take our order; a cheeseburger for myself, and a chicken sandwich for Ben. Once she had left, we started catching up; he talked about how they moved back into the home I grew up in, the trips they had been on, and how they were now just settling in. "It was nice to hop from place to place, but I think now is a good time to just kick back, relax, and let life go on like normal, right kid?" Ben finished. "Now go on, tell me about your new home, and this vineyard you started up."

"Well the house is shaping up real nice. I just had some furniture arrive for the living room; a few chairs and a coffee table. Now the place doesn't look so bare...but Ben," I said with hesitation, unsure where the conversation would take us, "Speaking of the vineyard...that's partly the reason why I asked you out here."

Ben leaned back in his seat, sighing loudly...almost like he was making a performance of it. "I knew the day would come. The day my own boy would ask his old man for money. Alright, how much do you want?"

"It really isn't about asking you for money," I corrected. "Far from it; I would rather you and mom not pay anything into the business unless you absolutely want to. No, I'm wondering if you know anyone else that would be willing to invest in the business. We have the floorplans finished and the builders are all hired for the tasting room and event venue; we just need to pull together the money to pay everyone. I'm planning on hosting a thank you banquet for those that choose to make the investment."

"Gotcha..." Ben mused inquisitively. "What's the final figure you have?"

"We're looking at a four-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollar estimate," I explained. "We started taking pre-orders and working on tasting events at local liquor stores with the two kinds of wine we have available so far, and that is helping to cover a portion of our costs, but as it stands, our business loan will only cover about half."

"And the return on investment?"

"We're still working on that percentage; we're aiming on a twelve percent ROI, depending on the success of the business. Otherwise it is a flat repayment of the money, at least until we plan further ahead." I knew that Ben's usual clientele at The Dakota were usually looking for profit opportunities, so when I observed him deep in his own thoughts, I knew he was considering how to present the idea to people he knew.

Ben clapped his hands together, then said, "Tell you what; if you give me a case of each wine you have ready, I can try pitching this stuff at The Dakota. Hell, even the owner might try carryin' the stuff."

"That would be nice," I said nodding in approval, "we could work out a fair price on a regular shipment."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do...but on one condition. I want to know how much your mother and I can contribute to your business."

I was afraid of this; his insistence in wanting to be an investor was a conversation I was hoping to avoid. Before I could give an answer, the waitress returned with our orders. Ben began to eat almost as soon as the food arrived, while all I could do was stare at my plate. "Look, Ben, I don't want you taking this the wrong way...really. But..."

"But what, kid?" Ben asked between mouthfuls of his sandwich.

"I...I just can't take your money. I'm sorry."