Chapter Two
Symon’s day sucked from the minute he’d woken up, and if his ears heard right, his day would be ending on a bad note as well.
“I was really hoping to get things finalized before then.” Sy pushed the bowl of frosting he’d been mixing to the side.
“I’m sorry, Symon. It looks like the owners have decided to accept offers for the next month before making a decision,” his realtor informed him, disappointment obvious in her voice as she gave him the bad news. “I tried to get them to reconsider, but they won’t budge.”
“Offers?” he growled, his grip tightening on the cell phone. If there were more bids than what he’d put in, then the situation was even worse than he’d thought. Was there a possibility he might not get the property? “What do you mean offers? The building wasn’t even for sale when I reached out, and my offer was more than fair. Hell, Carrie…I’m basically paying for an overpriced lot. The entire building needs to be completely gutted.”
“I know, and that’s exactly what I told Mr. and Mrs. Raphonzio. Our first offer was more than fair given the current market value, and I can’t see them expecting a higher number to come in with all things considered.”
Sy agreed, which was why he’d been confident his plans for expansion were ready to roll. He’d thought it would just be a matter of signing some papers and then poof, deal done. Why? Because that’s exactly how he’d set up everything to happen. He’d been preapproved for the business loan, one of his buddies was working on the building plans to open his bakery up to absorb the space next door, he had the paint colors and flooring already picked out, and he’d already begun pricing new custom counters for the space he’d been dreaming about.
The last thing he needed was for everything he’d put together to double the size of Symon Says Sweets to fall apart at the last minute.
“What am I supposed to do now?” he asked with a sigh, more than annoyed at the inconvenience of it all. “Just sit and wait?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she said with a sigh of her own. “I’m sorry, Sy.”
He’d known Carrie for a few years now, and although when they’d dated it had never stuck, she’d always been a solid friend. He always trusted her to give him good advice on how he should proceed. She was fantastic at her job and had built a lucrative career in real estate on her reputation as a straight shooter. It was one of the reasons he’d called her up when he thought of expanding, despite having fallen out of touch for a while.
“What would you suggest, Carrie?” he finally asked. He could potentially put down a little more dough if the Raphonzios were that desperate for cash, but he needed to know it was worth it. “Should I offer more to try to get the building now? A month may not seem like a big deal, but the holiday season is coming soon, and that’s big money. I need that space to keep up with the extra business, unless I want to keep doing some of the prep work here at home. If I throw another five G’s in the pot, do you think it will change their mind on waiting for more offers? I mean, money talks, right?”
“I don’t know. When the offer was first presented, I thought it was a done deal. The building has been vacant for more than a year and, as far as I know, there isn’t anyone else making moves on it. As your realtor and friend, I would suggest you wait the thirty days if you can. I would hate for you to throw more money at this when you don’t have to. Your first offer was already more than fair.”
“Fine,” he finally grumbled before adding, “but if you find out anything before then, let me know.”
“Absolutely,” she promised with a smile in her voice. “You’re going to get your building, Sy. I’m sure of it.”
“I need to run,” he said, eying the bowl of buttercream he’d mixed up earlier. “I’ll wait to hear from you, okay?”
“I’ll call you if I hear anything, but maybe we can get together for drinks soon? I heard there’s a cool new place in KC that’s set up like a speakeasy. We should check it out together.”
“Sounds fun,” he agreed easily. It was always fun to meet up with Carrie and catch up. And, if they were both looking for more intimate company, then hey, that would be fun too. She was smart, funny, gorgeous, and knew what she wanted. It wasn’t him, and he was okay with that. While Carrie was amazing, he never felt an abundance of sparks either. Their connection was based on convenience and simple, physical attraction. They were both so busy with their careers that an occasional hook-up with one of them hitting up the other whenever they were feeling lonesome was the extent of their relationship. If that’s even what you could call it. He’d been so slammed with orders these last few months that he’d been living the life of a monk, and it would do him some good to get out.
Without any definite plans made beyond texting each other soon, he finally let Carrie go and went back to work.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was busy. Keeping up with the orders was exhausting. He’d hired a few kitchen helpers not long ago to keep from falling behind, but just barely.
Symon Says Sweets had too many cooks in the kitchen. They literally bumped into each other if they were all in there at once. He’d had to schedule his crew shifts, pretty much running twenty-four hours a day, to avoid stepping on each other while still meeting demand. The overnight crew baked for the next day’s bakery stock, while the day crew handled parties and catering orders. Sy, owner and baker extraordinaire of Symon Says Sweets, toggled back and forth between all hours of the day and night, depending on where he was needed.
Picking up the bowl of buttercream frosting, he carried it to the couch of his renovated Victorian. He hadn’t planned to eat an entire bowl of the frosting for dinner, but indulging in his sweet tooth always made him feel better. Plus, he could always order delivery later if he needed something other than sugar to get him by for the night.
Right now, he needed the familiar comfort of his favorite frosting. The sweets he was addicted to had a way of calming him down when he was annoyed, and at that moment, he needed that whoosah. The last thing he’d wanted to hear after a ridiculously long day was that there was a problem with the building he’d already thought of as his. The entire situation was making him prickly. He didn’t want to wait thirty days and let the Raphonzios jerk him around, but he also didn’t really see another choice. Carrie had been right. He didn’t want to waste any more cash on the purchase price if he didn’t have to. Once the papers were signed, he’d have lots of renovations, which weren’t cheap. He’d been lucky that one of his good buddies was an architect and had offered to design the plans for his expansion because that saved him a major chunk of change to offset the expense of some of the other upgrades he needed.
He kicked his feet up onto the ottoman in front of him as he shoveled another spoonful of happiness into his mouth hoping it would cheer him up, which it did, but only a little.
The delay wasn’t the end of the world; it was just really fucking obnoxious. This small hiccup would push everything back, including the grand re-opening he’d envisioned having just before the start of bridal season. Just thinking about it was enough to give him a headache.
He spooned another dose of his preferred guilty pleasure onto his taste buds and leaned back to let it melt in his mouth. He could handle the workload they had scheduled in the small space he had at the bakery if he continued to do some of the easy prep here in his own kitchen. He’d been making it work this long, so what did another thirty days really cost him, right? It wasn’t ideal, but he could make it work. And if he wanted to look for silver linings, it would give him a little more time to get some of the custom items started that he’d need for the enlarged storefront. More time for things like that meant that he wasn’t going to be wasting cash on rush fees to make things look perfect for when it came time for the grand re-opening.
“Hey,” he called out when he heard his roommate walking through the kitchen towards the living room. “I saw your lazy ass was busy sleeping all afternoon.”
Gimli snorted and turned to head back the way he came.
“At least try to not fall asleep with your balls in your mouth this time. It’s embarrassing,” Sy called out to the wiggling backside of the weird Frankenstein breed of a rescue dog he’d adopted the year before. His face was oddly smooshed, there were a lot of weird wrinkles, and he had the body of a pitbull but the legs of a pug. A nice way to describe him would be using the word “unique.”
“And stop drinking from the toilet! I can tell you’ve been lifting the lid because it’s got your lip prints all over it.”
Neeeaerrrrrwaaaaapooooofh.
“Touché, Gimli. Touché.” There really was no other way to reply when your dog crop dusted you as he walked out the door.