Chapter 14 #2
He finally looks up, and his expression is harder than I’ve ever seen. “You said you were trying. You wanted to figure out what you wanted for once in your life. But the second someone waves money in your face, you’re ready to bail.”
“I didn’t say I was ready to bail. I said I needed time to think about it.”
“What is there to think about? This is people’s lives, Eleanor. Their jobs. Their community. This place,” he gestures around, and his voice cracks, “this place is more than real estate. It’s our home.”
“I know that.”
“Well, do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still thinking it’s a business transaction. Like everything that’s happened here—” He stops himself, his jaw tightening.
“Like everything that’s happened here, what?” I stand up, anger rising to match his. “Say it, Wyatt.”
“Like everything that’s happened between us is just something you’re willing to walk away from as long as the price is right.”
The words hang in the air between us, sharp and painful.
“That’s not fair,” I say again, my voice shaking. “You don’t get to make this about us. This is about my future, my financial survival. You have no idea what it’s like to—”
“To what? To need money? To make hard choices?” His laugh is bitter.
“I came back from Afghanistan with PTSD and medical bills I’m still paying off.
I moved back in with my grandmother because I couldn’t afford rent.
I worked three jobs before Mavis gave me this one, so don’t you tell me what I don’t understand. ”
“Well then, you should understand why I’m considering it.”
“I understand that you’re scared. I understand that it is life-changing money. But I also understand there are things worth more than money. And if you can’t see that, if you can’t see what you’d actually be giving up—” He stops, shaking his head.
“What? What would I be giving up?”
He looks at me for a long moment. And suddenly he’s resigned, like he’s lost everything. He says quietly, “You’d be giving up everything.”
He turns and walks away, disappearing into the back of the bar, leaving me standing alone at the table with Gary Allen’s folder and the weight of the offer pressing down on my chest like a boulder.
* * *
I don’t see Wyatt for the rest of the afternoon. Presley works the bar, looking at me, concerned but not asking questions. Dolly arrives for her evening shift and immediately knows something is wrong.
“What happened?” she asks, cornering me in the office.
“A developer made an offer on the bar.”
“Gary Allen?”
I blink. “You know him?”
“I know of him.” Her expression darkens. “He’s been sniffing around Copper Creek for months. He’s made offers on the hardware store, the bakery, and Grits and Grind. He’s been turned down every single time.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because we didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to even listen to him.” She crosses her arms. “What did he offer you?”
“Three and a half million.”
She lets out a low whistle. “Wow. That is a lot of money. But not enough.”
“What do you mean, not enough?”
Dolly looks at me with sharp eyes. “Sugar, I told you that developers came through here promising the moon. Jobs, growth, prosperity. They bought up half of Main Street, turned the old hotel into luxury condos, and opened fancy shops that no one here could afford to shop in. Locals got priced out. Rents went up. Property taxes went up. Small businesses that had been here for generations had to close because they couldn’t compete anymore.
And those developers? They made their money, and then they moved on to the next town.
Left Copper Creek with empty storefronts and people who couldn’t even afford to live in their own community anymore. ”
“Gary says he wants to help the town bring economic growth.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did say that. And I’m sure he believes it in his own way.
But men like Gary Allen don’t see places like The Rusty Spur as homes.
They see them just as investments. And when the investments stop paying off, they move on.
” She moves toward the door and then pauses.
“Mavis got offers, too, you know. Every year or so, someone would come through wanting to buy the bar, turn it into something ‘better.’ She always said no.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew the place was worth what the place was worth. Not in dollars, but in people, in memories, in the kind of community that can’t be bought or sold. The question is, do you know that?”
She leaves me alone in the office with that question echoing in my mind.
* * *
Friday comes too fast. I haven’t slept more than a few hours each night.
I’ve read Gary Allen’s proposal a dozen times and looked at my bank account.
I’ve made lists of pros and cons till my hand cramped.
I haven’t talked to Wyatt. He’s been avoiding me, working different shifts, leaving before I can corner him, responding to my texts with one-word answers that tell me everything I need to know about where we stand now.
During my process of making a decision, I decided that I can’t worry about what Wyatt thinks.
I have to make this decision for myself.
I’ve never had the chance to make a decision without someone else being involved, namely my mother.
This time, I decide, the decision needs to come from me.
No outside pressure. No guilt. Wyatt was right about one thing - I have to figure out what I really want.
Friday afternoon at 1:45 p.m., Gary Allen’s Mercedes pulls into the parking lot yet again. I watch from the office window as he gets out, looks at his expensive watch, and adjusts his expensive tie. He looks confident, like he knows he’s about to close a deal.
I think about the folder on my desk with all the zeros. I think about my maxed-out credit cards and my failed business, and the life I left behind in Atlanta, I can never get back.
But I don’t want it back anyway.
I think about Wyatt’s face when he said I would be giving up everything. I think about Dolly’s story about the developers who turned part of Copper Creek into something unrecognizable. And then I think about Mavis, who said no every single time.
I take a deep breath, and then I walk out to meet him.
* * *
Gary Allen is sitting at the same table as before, looking relaxed and confident. He seems to think he’s got this whole thing sewn up already. He stands when he sees me approach, his fake smile already in place.
“Ms. Whitfield, I was hoping we’d have good news to celebrate today.”
“Mr. Allen,” I don’t even sit down. “I’ve made my decision.”
“Excellent. I’ve already drawn up the preliminary paperwork.”
“I’m declining your offer.”
His smile doesn’t falter, but I see something shift behind his eyes. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I’m saying no. I will not be selling The Rusty Spur.”
He laughs, but it’s a short, disbelieving sound. “Ms. Whitfield, I don’t think you understand what you’re turning down. Three and a half million dollars for a bar that probably brings in, what, two hundred thousand a year? Three hundred? This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer.”
“I understand perfectly, and my answer is still no.”
“May I ask why?” His tone is pleasant, but there’s an edge. “Surely you can see the benefits.”
“I can see what you’re offering, and I can see what it would cost, and the answer is no.”
He sits back and studies me. His pleasant mask slips just slightly. “You’ve been here, what, a few weeks? A couple of months? You think you understand this place, but you don’t. You’re playing at being a small-town bar owner, but we both know you don’t belong here.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Well, I know you’re broke. I know your business failed.
I know you’re one emergency away from financial disaster.
” He leans forward. “And I’m offering you a way out.
Security. Stability. The kind of money that means you never have to worry again.
And you’re throwing it away for what? For these people who aren’t even your family? For a building that’s falling apart?”
“This conversation is over.”
“Think about October,” he says, the pleasant tone now completely gone.
“You’re gonna have to decide whether to keep this place or walk away.
If you walk away, it goes to the church, and you get nothing.
So you can take my offer now and set yourself up for life, or you can gamble that you’ll actually want to stay in this backwater town.
Because let me tell you something, people like you don’t stay in places like this.
You’ll get bored. You’ll miss the life you had.
And when you realize you want out, I won’t be here with this offer anymore. ”
“Good.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said good. Because I don’t want your offer now, and I won’t want it in the future.
” I lean forward, matching his posture. “You say you want to help Copper Creek, but you don’t.
You want to turn it into something else entirely.
Something that pushes out people who actually live here. And I won’t be a part of that.”
He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “You’re making a mistake.”
“And that’s my right.”
“You think these people are your friends? You think they care about you?” He gestures around the empty bar. “They care about what you can do for them. The minute you stop being useful, and this bar stops being theirs, they’ll turn on you. I’m trying to help you.”
“Get out.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and then Gary picks up his briefcase and adjusts his tie.
“Fine. But when you change your mind, and you will change your mind, don’t expect me to be so generous.
” He starts toward the door, then turns back.
“Oh, and Ms. Whitfield, Ashby and Associates doesn’t give up easily.
We wanted The Rusty Spur to be the centerpiece of our project, but there are other properties, other ways to make this work. You might want to keep that in mind.”
The bell over the door chimes as he leaves.
I stand there shaking, adrenaline coursing through me. I just turned down three and a half million dollars. I just told off a developer in my own bar. I just chose The Rusty Spur, and I have no idea if I just made the best decision of my life or the worst.