9. Charlie
“Are you okay?”
Whitley’s words take me by surprise as we walk down the sidewalk of Rolling Hills. Probably because I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and almost ran into a mailbox. And not a small one on a post. A big-ass blue one. That’s what happens when you’re looking over your shoulder with every step to make sure you don’t see the man that makes you want to punch a wall.
I hate that he makes me feel like this. Even without the incident, I think I’d still be reacting this way when it comes to Simon. Fifteen years later and I’m still that emotional girl running from his house on the campus of the University of Tennessee with tears streaming down my face and a broken heart.
I don’t want to be her. I want to get over it. It was one kiss, and one subsequent heartbreak, over a decade ago. And an ill-fated drunken sexual encounter. I’m sure that if I could afford therapy, I’d be told to make amends and get over it.
I wish I could. But I can’t. He brings out something in me that makes me want to scream. Or run. Or cry. Or kiss him.
Usually all of the above.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I lie.
Why am I even here? If just the thought of seeing Simon makes my body stand on high alert, then I definitely can’t run a restaurant, or live, here. I don’t think they make stress medication strong enough for that.
This was a bad idea. I should have held my ground and told Whitley no. I should have stayed in Nashville and enjoyed my day off. But no, here I am, bright and early in the morning looking at a restaurant that I’m determined to find inadequate.
Yet, as we get closer to the diner, only one word is popping into my head.
Perfect.
Because of course it is.
A cute brick exterior in the center of a seemingly small town. Windows that let you see inside, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it’s intrusive. A neighboring parking lot which allows for plenty of patrons. And a sign proudly displayed from the top of the entry that says “Mona’s.”
Fuck.
I love it.
And that name…the universe couldn’t give me a clearer sign. My tears start to well, but I force them back.
Because this is very inconvenient for me. I’m supposed to be finding everything wrong with this place, not falling in love with it.
“This is so exciting!” Whitley squeals as she takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. As we enter, my heart swells.
It’s even more perfect. I slowly start walking through the tables set up around the center of the restaurant, booths next to me lining the walls. It’s slightly dated, and every single surface is the same buttery yellow, but at the same time that gives it some charm. I’d probably replace the seating fixtures that have seen better days and maybe give the walls a fresh coat of paint that isn’t the color of the sun, but otherwise, it works perfectly. It’s the size I always imagined having. There’s a breakfast counter beside a glass case where Mellie can display her desserts. It’s next to a cash register that I’m pretty sure was made in the seventies.
It’s annoyingly perfect. Like so perfect that I’m trying to figure out how to design the sign at the front of the building that says “Welcome all. Except for Simon Banks. You know what you did.”
“Hello, ladies.” My eyes find a giant of a man walking out of the kitchen. “I’m Emmett, the property manager. You must be Whitley and Charlie.”
I was expecting to see a restaurant today. I was expecting to have to tell the realtor that I couldn’t take it. I wasn’t expecting to have to say that to a six-foot-five hunk of a man with perfectly fitting Wranglers and a white T-shirt.
Is this what men in Rolling Hills look like? Because if so, Simon Banks be damned, I’m about to have a new zip code.
“Nice to meet you, Emmett,” I say as we shake hands. I know I’ve never met this man, but for some reason I feel like I’ve seen him before. “I’m Charlie. Are you the tour guide?”
He shakes his head with a pleasant smile. “I can be if you want. But you seem like a very capable person, so look around all you’d like. Once you’ve taken the tour, I’ll be out here waiting, and we can go over specifics and any questions you have.”
“Thanks,” I say as Whitley and I go into the kitchen. As soon as the door swings shut, I grab Whitley and turn her to me. “Holy shit! Why didn’t you tell me Rolling Hills men were hot?”
Whitley shakes her head. “They are, but he’s not one of them.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He must work for whoever bought this place. I know everyone in Rolling Hills. And that guy definitely doesn’t live here.”
Weird. “So did someone from outside of Rolling Hills buy this place?”
“I honestly don’t know,” she says as she pulls open the door to the walk-in cooler. “Mona was tight-lipped about the buyer and asked me to keep quiet that she was selling. People don’t even know this place is for sale. She gave me Emmett’s number and we set up the showing. This has all been weird if you ask me. Usually something like Mona’s selling would be all over the Rolling Hills gossip train. But no one knows anything.”
Interesting. Not that it matters to me. As long as Emmett is easy to work with and there aren’t a million stipulations in the rental agreement, it doesn’t matter who owns this place.
Wait, what am I saying? I’m not leasing this. I’m not signing anything. This isn’t the beginning of my dream coming true. Because there’s no way I can afford this. I guarantee that Emmett is about to pop my fantasy balloon when he tells me what the rent is. Hell, I should stop daydreaming now and ask him how much, so I can return to reality.
The kitchen equipment from first glance is in working order. Maybe a little on the dated side, but would still run without a problem. It has everything I need for my menu, including ovens and a station for Mellie to make all the desserts and pastries she wants. If I close my eyes, I can picture myself cooking back here.
Mellie is across from me, flour all over her, as she bakes. Servers are coming in and out shouting orders. Line cooks are cracking jokes as they bring my creations to life.
Fuck my life…
“Oh my gosh, I can’t wait for you to be here!” Whitley gushes as we exit the kitchen, her hands clapping in excitement.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I say to her and myself. I need to stay rational and focused. I can’t let a cute layout, a name sent from heaven, and a perfect kitchen blind me to the fact that it’s probably too expensive for me.
Plus, there’s my brother and niece to think about. I can’t just ask them to up and move down here with me.
There’s also the whole “Simon could walk in at any moment” issue.
Those are all plenty of good reasons to say thanks but no thanks.
“So what do we think?” Emmett asks as we approach his table.
“She’ll take it!” Whitley says.
I give Whitley a side-eye as we each take a seat. “I do love it. But that is how I know something is wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a glass-half-empty kinda gal, Emmett. So let me explain to you what we have here.”
This makes him smile as he leans back into his chair. “I’m all ears.”
“This is a perfect restaurant in a seemingly perfect town, which means you’re going to come back to me with a price I can only afford if I sell pictures of my feet, which, unfortunately, just aren’t that pretty. So lay it on me, Emmett. What’s the damage so I can politely tell you no. Because unless this place comes in at thirty-five hundred dollars a month, or magically less, then let’s both save our breath and end this charade.”
Emmett starts laughing, which is one of two responses I planned on getting. My self-deprecating humor usually is met with chuckles or stares. I’m glad Emmett is in the laughing column. He seems like a guy I could have a beer with, or wouldn’t mind serving him lunch each day at the counter as we chit-chat about the mundane.
“You’re one of a kind, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been told something like that.”
We share a friendly smile, but that’s all it is. Friendly. Genuine. Nothing flirtatious. Which makes sense and what I’ve come to expect. This man is in the top five of hottest men I’ve met in real life. I’m a very curvy, plus-sized woman who puts on makeup once a month and box dyes her hair when she’s bored. Men like Emmett don’t go for girls like me unless they want one thing. At least, that’s been my experience.
Or there are men like Simon, who pretend to be interested when you’re really just a conquest.
And sometimes you’re drunk enough to let them win.
I shake my head too quickly as I wait for Emmett to respond. Which he hasn’t yet. He’s just sitting back and smiling.
“Was I so off on the price that you’re trying to figure out how to gently let me down? Which I appreciate. Usually I get the ‘we’d love to lease to you but…’”
He smiles again and closes the folder. “It’s yours.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I was right about being out of my financial range when I realize he said it was mine.
It’s mine?
“Excuse me, can you repeat that?”
“He says it’s yours!” Whitley yells as she starts shaking me in excitement. “I knew this was perfect!”
“Whoa…” I throw my hands up and shake my head. “I feel like I missed about sixteen steps here.”
Emmett laughs. “I can see that. Let’s talk specifics.”
He talks about a two-year lease with my thirty-five-hundred-dollar rent paid monthly. He slides to me the stipulations and legalities in a manila folder, but I’ll have to go back and read those later. Right now I can’t focus. This is too good to be true.
Which means it likely is. I’m missing something.
“So what do you say?” Emmett asks. “Want to open your restaurant?”
My mind is racing, and I don’t know what to say. My gut is telling me to say yes because this has to be a dream and I’m scared I’m going to wake up. Or that Emmett is drunk at eight in the morning and he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to.
But the other part of me, the responsible part of me, is telling me to say no. This is crazy. I know what my budget is, and that thirty-five hundred was what I could afford if I only ate Ramen for a year and slept in my office. I still need a place to live, and I won’t have Connor to help me with rent. He has a steady job in Nashville, and I can’t ask him to give that up.
Plus, can I move to a town where I know one person? Okay, two people, but one of those people I hope falls in a sewer.
No. I can’t do this. Even if it feels like I’m throwing away my only chance at making my dreams come true.
“I appreciate this, Emmett. I really do. And you seem like a great guy…”
“Why do I feel like you’re breaking up with me?”
I chuckle. That would be a first in the history of my lifetime. “Seriously, I appreciate you saying that. About the price, that is. But I threw that number out almost jokingly. I really can’t afford that. I mean, I can, but it’s my max budget for a space and somewhere to live. It would be straining me to a point where I wouldn’t feel comfortable starting a business and a new life. I hope you can understand.”
I let out a breath. There. All said out loud. I’ve officially let Emmett, and Whitley, down easy. All that’s left is for me to now feel horrible about saying no to the perfect place.
“Nope! I refuse to accept this,” Whitley says. “You’re going to move in with me. I’ll pay half the rent here. Whatever you need.”
I shoot her a look. “Whitley. I can’t move in with you. And you aren’t paying any of my rent.”
“Why? I have the money. And we have space. And it wouldn’t be forever. Just for a few months until the restaurant is up and running and you’re a little more liquid with money.”
“Thank you, but I can’t ask you to do either of those things,” I say.
“You didn’t ask. I volunteered,” she said. “I refuse for that to be the reason you don’t open your restaurant.”
It’s not the only reason…
“I appreciate you.” I put my hand on top of hers. “But I don’t want a handout. I don’t like feeling like I’m accepting charity.”
“What if an apartment was included?”
Whitley and I both turn to look at Emmett. “Excuse me?”
“There are vacant apartments upstairs,” Emmett says. “The owner doesn’t have any immediate plans for them.”
“I couldn’t?—”
“You could,” he replies. “The owner gave me a base price on what he would accept. Thirty-five hundred was it. So consider it done.”
“I—” I lose my words. Then again, that implies that I had words. Because I don’t. This is the perfect restaurant and an apartment for a price I can now afford when they are together? It’s a dream come true.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he says.
“I don’t live in a world where there aren’t catches.”
“Welcome to Rolling Hills, the land of no catches.”
“And you’re sure the owner won’t mind about the apartment?”
Emmett shakes his head. “I have a feeling the owner will be more than happy to let you stay there.”
“I—” I can’t form words. I also think I’m about to start crying. “Can I think it over?”
Emmett nods. “Take the day. Hell, take a few days. I’ll cancel the other showings.”
“You don’t have to do that. People might come in with a higher?—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts me off. “This place is meant to be yours. I can tell. And if the price is too high, let me know before saying no. I have my ways with the owner. I bet I can get him to budge. He tries to be a hard ass—but he’s a softie.”
A tear escapes as I shake Emmett’s hand before leaving the restaurant.
As I step into the morning sun, letting the heat hit my face, I realize the town is a little more alive. Cars are driving past. People are strolling the sidewalks in conversation. The late August air of Tennessee is hitting me with a warmth I feel like I don’t get in Nashville. I close my eyes and let the undeniable energy fuse through me. And as I stand here, taking it all in, I can’t help but feel like this is where I belong.
Even if he’s here.