6. Simon
Iconsider myself the kind of man who knows what he wants. And once that idea is in my head, nothing will stop me.
If I want a house or a piece of property? I buy it.
If I want a woman, I ask her out. Or ask her to come home. Or get stupid drunk, call her on the phone, then have hot drunk sex.
Whatever the occasion demands.
And on this glorious Saturday morning, what is calling to me is french toast from the best diner in all of Tennessee.
Simon: I want french toast. On my way to Mona’s. Who’s coming with me?
Oliver: Did you forget I’m still in London? Though french toast does sound delicious.
Wes: Wish I could. Football practice this morning.
Simon: Fine. Shane? What about you?
Shane: Can’t.
Simon: Why not?
Shane: Just can’t.
Simon: If I ask you again, will you come back with a response that’s three words?
Shane: Just can’t fucker.
Simon: There ya go.
Simon: Wait! That means no one is going to come keep me company?
Wes: I’m sure you can eat a meal alone.
Simon: I can, but I don’t want to. french toast alone is depressing.
Oliver: I’m sorry, buddy. Wish I could help.
Simon: I know. That’s why you’re my number one best friend.
Wes: Fucking stop it with the friend ranking bullshit.
Simon: Says the man who is dying to be in first place.
Shane: Just go get your fucking breakfast and quit texting us.
Simon: Rude. But also I will because I’m hungry. And don’t ask me to bring you takeout. Because the answer will be no.
Shane: I’ll make sure to cry in my pillow.
Okay, apparently I’m going to Mona’s alone, so I grab my keys and head out the door to make the short drive into town.
I get it. My friends have lives and responsibilities and other people who rely on them. Oliver is currently putting his heart on the line for the woman he loves. Wes is starting the second chapter of his professional, and personal, life. And Shane…well, things are a little rocky for him right now with Amelia. They’ve got themselves in a pickle I don’t envy. It’s why I didn’t press him. I know my man is going through it.
Then there’s me. Single Simon. No wife. No girlfriend. No kids.
Just the way I like it.
I could call one of my sisters to drive down from Nashville to eat with me, but I don’t feel like a lecture. Because that’s what always happens. Usually it’s about how I’m turning thirty-six years old and have never been in a serious relationship.
No. That does not sound like the kind of Saturday I want to have.
Plus, I know where my mind will go: Charlie.
The only one I’ve ever wanted a serious relationship with.
The one I can still taste and feel, despite it being over a week since we were together.
The one who left before the sun came up. No note. Nothing.
Which makes sense. That’s her MO, after all.
Only this time, I expected it. No way did I think I was going to wake up with her warm body next to me. I didn’t expect morning cuddles or round two.
Which was disappointing. I love cuddling.
No. Fuck it. I can’t let my mind go there again. I need to move on. And you know what helps with that? french toast.
“Mona!”
The gray-haired owner-slash-waitress looks up from the coffee she’s pouring. Somehow she doesn’t spill. “Simon Banks! How are you, sugar? How’s your mom and ‘em?”
“She’s good. Sisters are good. Dad’s good,” I say as I sit down at the counter. “Now, the real question is, how’s the love of my life?”
She rolls her eyes before turning to grab me a glass of water and an orange juice. “You don’t need to butter me up, Simon. You know I’ll throw in extra slices of french toast.”
I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth for a kiss. “And that is why you’re the love of my life.”
“Quit pissing on my leg and tellin’ me it’s raining,” Mona says. “Now put that flirt away and let me go get your order in.”
I smile and take a sip of my orange juice. The Saturday morning crowd has thinned a bit and the lunch rush hasn’t started, but there are still plenty of people here. Mona’s is never empty. It’s a staple in Rolling Hills. If you’ve ever stepped foot in this town, you’ve come here for a meal. And you haven’t been disappointed.
Mona’s is famous for breakfast, a damn good patty melt, the gossip mill, and prices so cheap they should be illegal. The interior hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve been coming here. Yes, the pictures on the wall have evolved with different little league teams she’s sponsored, but some of the originals still remain, including the one of her standing out front under her sign that still hangs today. It was taken the day she opened. You’ll always find the same group of men sitting at the front table talking sports and politics. Sewing and book clubs come in and out through the week. When someone thinks of Rolling Hills, they think of Mona’s.
“Excuse me. Can I speak to the owner?”
The question I just overheard makes me sit a little straighter. Because who is asking that question? Mona is the owner. Everyone in town knows Mona is the owner. So who is this outsider? And why is he asking who the owner is?
I turn my head to get a look at this stranger, only to realize it’s my college beer pong partner.
“I am,” I say as I stand up. “To buy this place you’d need a million dollars cash, Nashville Fury season tickets, and to be able to sing ‘Rocky Top’ at my beck and call.”
I’m greeted with a laugh and a shake of the head. “The million and the season tickets I can do. But no one wants to hear me sing. Ever.”
I smile as I reach for Emmett’s hand, which he returns before we pull each other into a back-slapping hug.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I sit back down as Emmett takes a seat next to me. “Mona! Get this guy a coffee.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he says.
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I was going to. Promise. Just had to do a little work first.”
Emmett is one of the more standup guys I’ve met in my life. We were roommates our freshman year of college and remained friends throughout since we were both business majors. We hung out a good amount, but since he wasn’t in my fraternity—and in those days I thought Greek life was the life—it wasn’t a regular thing. But when we did, it was always a damn good time.
We lost touch after graduation—I moved back to Rolling Hills, and he got a job in Nashville. Considering I went on to get my real estate license and he started working for a development company as a property manager, our paths should have crossed more than they did. Despite living an hour apart, we rarely saw each other.
That was until about a month ago, when all my friends were out of town and I was bored. Wes suggested I give him a call, and I’m glad I did. We might not have seen each other in years, but we picked up right where we left off.
“Speaking of not calling,” Emmett says. “I thought we were supposed to meet up last week when you were up my way. What happened?”
Flashes of a naked Charlie run through my mind. Because yes, I was supposed to meet Emmett, but I got drunk instead. Considering what that led to, I can’t be mad about it. “Got tied up.”
He snickers. “I’m sure you did.”
“Enough about me. What kind of business brings you down here? There isn’t a property available for sale, that I can assure you.”
I know this because every time a piece of Rolling Hills real estate hits the market, I’m usually the one who buys it, or finds someone to buy it. Houses, businesses, empty land that one day I’ll develop. Hell, I even have a stake in my goddaughter’s lemonade stand.
“Technically you’re right,” he says. “But there’s the vacant storefront attached to this building that my boss heard might go up for sale. I was told to come down here and talk to the owner. See if they were really thinking about it, and to see if they were interested in selling to us.”
“Ha!” I laugh, shaking my head. “Good luck.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
As if on cue, Mona comes over with a pot of coffee.
“Mona, this is Emmett, my old college roommate. Emmett, meet Mona, the woman who makes the best french toast in all the land and the owner of said building.”
“A pleasure.”
The two extend their hands. “Pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”
Oh shit, he’s turning on the Southern charm. I’ve lived in Tennessee for nearly all of my life and to this day I’ve never met anyone who has as thick of a drawl as Emmett Collins.
“Well aren’t you a cold drink of water on a hot summer’s day,” Mona says, falling for it hook, line, and sinker.
“Mona! Quit flirting with my friend! I’m sitting right here. And I’d like to point out that I professed my love for you not even ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says as Emmett gives her a wink. “You’re old news, buddy.”
Rude.
“You think you know a woman,” I grumble as Mona walks away, laughing all the way to the kitchen.
“She’s something,” he says.
“She is. Would give the shirt off her back to anyone in need. Sponsors town events every month. Has fed every resident in this town. And hard-headed as hell.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because despite this building being empty except for this restaurant, the woman refuses to sell.”
“How do you know?”
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “Because I’ve tried. And failed. A lot.”
I’ve lost track how many times I’ve asked Mona to sell to me. I’ve even tried to just buy the vacant parts of the building she doesn’t use. And every time she has the same answer: “I’m not ready yet.”
Which, I get. Fine. Mona is a special person to me, and I’d never force her into selling. It just hurts my real estate agent heart knowing there are buildings that aren’t being used. That I could turn them into something that could bring money into Rolling Hills.
And into my pocket. But more for the Rolling Hills part.
“Well, then…that sounds like a challenge.”
Emmett makes a show of cracking his knuckles and loosening his neck like he’s going into a boxing match.
“Challenge? You think after meeting her for five seconds you can convince her to sell?”
“Hell yeah, I can,” Emmett says. “Bet?”
If there is one thing about me that everyone, including Emmet, knows, is that I can’t resist a bet. Of any kind. I once bet my nephew on a game of Candyland that I was planning on letting him win. “Hell yeah. Stakes?”
He looks at Mona, takes a sip of his coffee, then looks back to me. “If she says yes, I get your Alabama-Tennessee tickets next season.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. He knows how much I look forward to that game every year. Which is why I throw down a doozy of a counter. “Fine. But if you lose, you have to come work for me.”
His eyes blink rapidly like he’s processing my words. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Did this idea just come to me? Yes. But it’s perfect. “I have a company separate from my residential real estate that just leases commercial space. I only have a few properties and have been wanting to expand. But to do that I need a competent property manager.”
“Have you even looked for a property manager?”
I shake my head. “No. Because I don’t hire randoms. I hire people I know. I trust. That, my friend, is you.”
I can’t believe I’m just thinking of this. I need someone to run the day to day. And though Emmett and I have just reconnected, I know in my gut he’s the guy I’ve been wanting.
I hold my hand out to Emmett as I see Mona walking toward us with our breakfast orders. “Do we have a deal?”
“Deal,” he says. “That’s how confident I’m feeling.”
“Same my friend. Same.”
“Here you go boys,” Mona says. “Now, why did you tell my new boyfriend here that I was the owner?”
I hold out my hands, signaling for Emmett to shoot his shot. “The floor is yours.”
“Well, Mona,” Emmett begins, ramping up that charm. “I work for a development and real estate company in Nashville.”
“Go on…”
“And I was just curious, knowing that you have some empty space, if you were in the market to talk about selling? The property value is at an all-time?—”
“Sure.”
Excuse me, what?
I look over to her and Emmett, french toast dangling from the corner of my mouth, in complete shock. I’m dumbfounded. Perplexed. Flabbergasted. Flummoxed.
“Well, great,” Emmett begins before I throw my hands up.
“What!?” I yell. “You’re interested? You’ve always told me no!”
Mona shrugs. “You haven’t asked in a while. He asked.”
Oh, this woman and her delicious french toast…
“Mona!”
“Simon!”
“I…” I don’t know what else I was going to say, because I can’t think.
No. This can’t happen. She can’t sell to anyone but me.
“Well, Mona, I’m so glad to hear that,” Emmett goes on. “The firm I work for would love to set up a time with you to talk specifics.”
Emmett starts to hand his business card over to Mona before I reach over and swat it away.
“Simon!” Mona yells. “Where are your manners? I know your mama raised you better than that.”
“You can’t sell to him,” I say. And this has nothing to do with my tickets. Mostly. Mona’s is an institution. Whoever comes in here next I want to make sure is going to spend the next fifty years here as well. It might not be the french toast I know and love—and really, what is—but I want someone in here that will be the next generation’s Mona. “Sell to me.”
“Simon,” Emmett says. “Our firm is ready to make a sizable offer.”
“What’s the offer?” I say. My tone has lost any hint of joking. I want this property. And I want it today.
“It’s valued at eight-hundred-and-seventy-five thousand,” he says.
“Well, hot damn,” Mona exclaims. “Do you know how many cruises I can go on with that kind of money?”
“I’ll give you a million. Cash.”
The restaurant goes silent. I’m sure it’s a coincidence, but I feel like everyone is staring. I can’t even hear the telltale sound of the grill sizzling with bacon.
“Simon. You know it’s not worth?—”
“Don’t ’Simon’ me Emmett,” I say, turning my focus to Mona. “If you’re truly thinking about selling, Mona, sell it to me. Don’t sell to some random firm in Nashville that will make it into a freaking chain coffee shop.”
She looks over to Emmett, who shrugs his shoulders. “He’s right.”
“See? Sell to me. I’ll make sure the next tenant will keep this as a restaurant. I mean, I’ll need my french toast fix from someone. Please Mona, don’t sell to them. Keep it in the Rolling Hills family. Please…pretty please….”
I’ve never in my years as a real estate agent begged for a sale. I’ve never batted my eyelashes or given a puppy-dog face.
Yet here I am, pouting and pleading like I’m asking my mom for a cookie.
“Fine,” Mona says, though it’s not enthusiastically. She does realize I’m about to give her a million dollars in actual cash, doesn’t she? “I’ll sell to you. But under one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Let me meet whoever decides to lease this,” she says. “It has taken me years to realize that it’s time for me to step back. This is my baby, Simon. My literal life. I know I can’t control or have a say as to who’s coming in here, but I want to know my baby is in good hands.”
I don’t know why, and it definitely wasn’t on purpose, but in this moment a thought of Bug flashes in my mind. Fuck…I don’t want to think about her. But I couldn’t push this image out of my brain if I wanted to.
Her in an apron, her full hips and chest rounding out the image. Her hair up on the top of her head. Her smile lighting up this restaurant as she interacts with customers. Me sitting right here at this very place at the counter, watching her with pride as she makes this place her own.
Maybe sneaking into the back for a quickie…
I nod to Mona, which also brings me out of the fantasy world. “Absolutely, Mona.”
“We’ll find a good tenant, I promise.”
The two of us snap our heads to Emmett, who I’m pretty sure just said that we’d find a good tenant. As in plural. As in we.
“You’re in?”
Emmett lets out a sigh. “Yeah. I’m in. I couldn’t resist the puppy-dog eyes either.”
“Well, isn’t this beautiful,” Mona says, clapping her hands in excitement. “Now you two boys get to finding someone to take this place. I have a cruise to book.”
Mona walks away, a million-dollar pep in her step, as Emmett and I clink glasses to a deal sealed.
“Well, isn’t this day turning up,” I say. “Nothing like making a big sale and starting a new partnership. And winning a bet. Great day.”
“Whoa!” Emmett says. “Technically she agreed to sell to me first. I win.”
“Fine,” I groan. “Double or nothing?”
Emmett shakes his head. “Hell no. Plus, my next bet is for money, and you, my friend, owe that woman a million. And I haven’t told you my salary requirements yet.”
I laugh as we continue to eat our breakfast. Man, I didn’t see this day going like this, but I can’t be mad. I got french toast, a business partner, my daily memory of a naked Charlie, and a piece of property I’ve been eyeing for years.
Not bad for a day’s work.