CHAPTER FORTY
Asher
“No news is good news, right?” the loan specialist at Cedar Falls First and Trust says to me.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I say drolly.
“I know, but just give it some time. You already have a large debt—”
“But those loans—those mortgages—are under my gran and pop’s name. This one would be under my name, on my credit—”
“—with their farm as collateral. So, they go hand in hand.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “I know. Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m just antsy and want to get started.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she says.
“Okay,” I say, sounding less than convinced. “I look forward to hearing back from you.”
When the call ends, I place my head in my hands. I feel like I’m waiting on everything these days: the loan approval. Hillary’s answer. Each day to tick by so that we get closer and closer to the end of the month.
But the brochures I had made look incredible and have even got the stamp of approval from a smiling-through-her-happy-tears Gran. The new signage has been ordered and will be ready to put in place by next week.
I don’t know why I feel it is so critical for me to do this, for me to succeed at this, right now in my life, but it is.
I’ve managed to sort Pop’s stacks, make sense of them, and organize them by how they make sense to me. I have a clearer picture of The Fields’s debt and have spreadsheets and a budget in place so I can start paying them down. I’ve made the house more my home than Gran and Pop’s.
Now all that’s left is to officially make the next chapter of The Fields my own. Past and present combined.
And maybe it’s more than just proving to Pop I can do it, proving to myself that I’m capable. Maybe I’m trying to be in control. Maybe I know I’ll need something to throw myself into when I’m faced with a heartache like I’ve never known before.
. . . it’s nothing major . . . it’s just a fling that will be over in three or four weeks . . .
Did I really think he was going to stay? Of course not. But maybe I figured that we’d make it work somehow. That we’d find a middle ground.
But did I even think that would work? If I was about to throw myself wholeheartedly into a relationship with someone who clearly couldn’t divorce himself from New York City because of his business, would I have jumped headfirst into turning The Fields into a destination location like I am?
Maybe I knew all along.
Because realistically, this was never going to work before it even started, no matter how much I told myself differently.