Chapter 13
Baylor
I push the signed contract across the table.
The real estate attorney stands and offers his hand. As soon as I shake it, he says, “Congratulations. You just bought half of Main Street.”
“I consider it an investment in my hometown’s future.”
“A noble purchase?” he asks, stacking the papers and tucking them into a file.
“Not noble but needed. I believe it can be brought back to what it once was.”
He grins. “I’ve seen the pics. Was this in your lifetime or a bygone era?”
I glance at my attorney, Mark, who has made no qualms about his dislike for the other guy.
His face is still soured by the joke he made about Texans not five minutes before asking me to sign the paperwork.
I almost punched the fucker, but he represents the now-former owner of that strip of shops, so I pushed my pride down and focused on the matter at hand.
It's been years since Peachtree Pass has been active outside of the festival time of year. The farm and orchard get plenty of out-of-towners driving in for the day during spring and summer, even for pumpkins in the fall, but otherwise, half that strip center is sitting empty.
I reply, “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for some time. It was a great place to grow up. I want that for other families. That starts with bringing more business to the area.”
He comes around the table, heading for the door. “Sounds like you’re ready to move back.”
Moving back isn’t that foreign of an idea.
Everyone from my dad to my best friend mentions it regularly.
Tagger did a few years back, so of course, it’s crossed my mind a time or two.
It’s a nice reprieve from the city, a slower pace that gives me room to think about stuff other than my clients’ portfolios and how the stock market is doing.
As for settling in as a solid plan, I’m not seeing a place for me in the Pass. I own 10 percent of the ranch, but now I’m a guest on the land.
I got the impression from Lauralee that she was making the apartment her own, so finding it listed and ready for reservations is a temporary solution for my next visit.
But it’s not a viable long-term plan. Or maybe it is.
Fuck. I don’t know what I want anymore. “Not ready to leave New York,” I reply just to end this uncomfortable conversation.
Mark walks ahead with the other attorney as they discuss the final details and filings.
I follow, stuck in my own mind. As the official owner of that strip, I can get with Lauralee and the other tenant to see what we think the town needs and what would be a good fit in the other three vacant spots.
This isn’t about me. It’s about bringing money into the Pass’s economy.
The county was named after my family, but this doesn’t feel like an obligation or a burden on my shoulders to save the town.
It feels like an opportunity. I can’t wait to share the news with Laural ee and my family.
Even though I’m not sure where we stand on things, I know Lauralee will be thrilled that the ownership will be local.
Well, I’m in Manhattan, but yeah, no need to complicate this.
Outside the building, the other attorney leaves, but Mark says, “Congratulations. You own a sizable portion of Peachtree Pass.” He grins.
“It’s not every day someone can say they bought a town.
And he’s not wrong about it being noble.
A lot of towns are left to wither as the population ages. I’m sure your family is proud.”
A driver slams on the car horn, drawing our attention.
When I turn back, I confess, “No one knows. This isn’t about getting any glory.
I’m handing it off to be managed by a leasing company out of Austin.
I’ll have some say when they get offers, but I’m not looking to run it day-to-day.
I just want to be a part of reviving it.
” Cocking my eyebrow, I laugh. “Any interest in running a pizzeria in the Texas Hill Country?”
He chuckles. “My born-and-raised Manhattan wife isn’t looking to move to the country. But I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You do that,” I continue teasing as we shake hands.
When we part ways, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out to read while heading to the corner to catch a cab.
My feet stop as soon as I see it. “Holy shit. Mickey was right.” I grin so fucking big seeing the Westcott Enterprises stock take off.
I throw my arm up and hop in the first cab that stops, give them the address, and sit back. What a fucking day. I spent a million on a real estate deal after a tense negotiation, but just made back double on the market.
Back at the office, I call Mickey in. “You’re not gloating, are you?” I ask when he comes in and closes the door with a grin so big, he might crack his cheeks wide open .
“Might be.”
I stand and hold out my hand. When he shakes, I say, “You made me a lot of money today.”
“You bought the stock?”
“Of course, on good advice. I hope you scored a win.”
He nods, sitting on the other side of the desk. “I made more money today than my dad made in a year when I was growing up on Staten Island.”
“I love a success story. Congratulations.” I start typing a reply to an email, but stop to add, “I submitted it in the stocks to watch to Taylor and Goodman. I listed you as the adviser.”
He leans forward like we might be overheard even though my door is shut. “I’m not an adviser, though.”
“Not yet, but you have talent and deserve the recognition.” I angle to face him. “This is how you move up. It only takes one surefire hit, and you’ll have your own office soon.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you putting it in the ledger.”
“You’re welcome. Now go find your next rec.” I turn back to the email I’ve started.
“For you or for the company?”
I chuckle. “Both. I’m always up for making money.”
“It does have a good taste to it.” He stands to leave. “You still leaving tomorrow for Texas?”
“I am. I’ll be back on Monday before noon.” Just as Bob requested.
“Well, you’re booked for the flight, and a short-term rental will be ready. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks, especially for making me money.”
He laughs as he leaves. “Anytime.”
I finish the day, wrapping up work here so I can get home and start packing.
Tucking my phone in my pocket, I tap the last key to shut down my computer before walking around and turning off the TV screens.
Although I can’t escape checking in regularly while I’m traveling, I’m more than happy to leave the markets behind for today.
On my way home, I stop at a deli to pick up my favorite Italian sub for dinner.
But while I wait for it to be made, I start thinking about Lauralee and the Sundries shop.
She has the small café and bakery, which are her pride and joy from what I’ve seen.
I wonder if she’s thought about expanding to a full deli or restaurant.
I don’t know her mom’s or her finances, but food is what brings people together and to town.
A bar and a few other stores, so even locals wouldn’t have to travel to Dover County anymore, would be a good addition.
I get my sandwich and head home with more ideas, though I really need to be hands-off. Ultimately, it’s an investment to make money and not a side project I need to take on.
I know a little brunette I wouldn’t mind taking on.
I just don’t know how she will feel about me being back in the Pass tomorrow.
Hopefully, she’ll be grateful since she’s making bank off me on that rental.
But we’ll see. Lauralee is nothing if not spirited.
I’m just hoping some of the energy can be expended in bed like last time.
I will either be welcomed with open arms and kisses or have the door slammed in my face. I shouldn’t be looking forward to finding out as much as I am. But I can’t wait to see her again.
The instructions were clear. Go to the counter in the Sundries shop to retrieve the key. I park the rental car out front on Main and check the mirror like a teenager going on his first date. I slam the visor up. “What the fuck am I doing?”
I could pat my face or douse myself in cologne, hoping I don’t look as tired as I feel and don’t smell like the stuffy air of an airplane, but I don’t.
A shot of adrenaline is running through me because I’m about to see her again.
It’s noticeable because I haven’t felt like this about someone in a long time.
Hoping for the best, I run my hand through my hair and get out.
Opening the door, my gaze travels to the bakery counter first. Disappointment is quick to set in. The bell already alerted my entrance, but I still don’t hear a welcome or announcement coming from the back kitchen. I look around and walk to the register. “Hello? Hey Shortcake?”
The kitchen door swings open, and Peaches greets me with a smile. “Baylor Greene is back in town. Welcome home.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” I ask, “How have you been?”
Her grin grows as she stops on the other side of the counter from me. “Fantastic actually.”
“I like to hear it. Fantastic looks fantastic on you, Mrs. Knot.”
She laughs. “Peaches works.” Waving me off, she says, “I’m not going to bore you with old lady stuff. Did I hear a request for shortcake?”
Shit. “Uh, yeah. I crave Lauralee’s more than I should when I’m back in New York.”
“Hers is the best.” She slides the door to the glass case open. “Do you want one or two?”
I haven’t heard anything or anyone in the back. No noise is heard at all other than the two of us. “One or t wo what?”
Her brows pinch together, and she laughs humorlessly. “Strawberry shortcake.”
“Oh.” I bend to look in the case. “I’ll take all eight for the family at the ranch.”
“Perfect.” She pulls the tray out and says, “I’ll box these up in the back.” Before the door swings closed behind her, she looks back. “Lauralee’s at the apartment waiting for a renter to show up if you want to stop by and say hi. This will take me a few minutes anyway.”
“Good idea.”
“Cut through the kitchen. It’s quicker.”
I come around and follow her through the door. She has her back to me when I push out the door under the staircase. With that earlier adrenaline rushing back, I take the steps by two and knock on the door.
When it swings open, her smile falters. Not the welcome I was hoping for, but the door hasn’t slammed closed yet. “Hi there,” I say, keeping my voice low for no other reason than it feels like the moment calls for it.
She blinks a few times, then smiles. It’s not as big as it was, but it’s sweet, matching the one I’ve been dreaming about for almost a month now. Leaning against the door, she tilts her head to touch the wood, and says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, I’ve been wondering . . .” Her gaze drops down between us, a shyness coming over her as her cheeks pinken.
She’s better than any memory. Her brown hair shines in the sunlight, and a sparkle allows me to discover the gold flecks and a few greens dotting the comfort of her warm brown eyes.
I’m given a teasing peek of her tan stomach when the top rises along her ribs, and her shorts hang lower.
She’s summertime perso nified and so beautiful that I’m tempted to skip the pleasantries and kiss her.
I don’t because she’s one of the reasons I was looking forward to this trip, and I’m not going to blow it on the first day back. I ask, “About?”
Straightening her spine, she squares her shoulders. “If you had any good stock tips for me, Mr. Finance Fancy Pants?”
The smirk comes naturally, but resisting those lips doesn’t. I do, though. “I have a tip for you.”
She tries hard to restrain her own smirk but fails as it tickles its way onto her mouth. “Is it considered insider trading if you share your tip with me?”
What is she doing to me? The tease. “It will be inside her, alright.” Rubbing my thumb over my bottom lip, I steady my gaze on her and lean in. “I could be taken to jail over such a risky proposition, though.”
Her eyebrows bounce once, and she leans in as well. “Sharing your tip with me might not be worth the risk then.”
I cup her face and scrape my lips against hers. Just as her eyes close and her hands hold tight to my biceps, I whisper, “You’re always worth the risk.”