Chapter 11
The moment I see Hunter, I know it was a mistake to come down to breakfast in my polka-dot pajamas with my hair still in a ratty bun.
He’s wearing a plaid flannel over a white T-shirt with well-fitting jeans and work boots, his hair still a little wet from the shower, and he looks absolutely delicious; and that’s from someone already stuffed to the gills with bread pudding.
“Rhea!” His face lights up, which just about makes me do one of those dances bees do when they find honey. “You here for biscuits?”
“I’m here for everything,” I say. “How about you?”
“Biscuits and coffee. Best way to start the day. I was just about to text you—”
“Hunter, your grandma hated Maggie Kirkwood, right?” Nathan calls from the other room, where the hiss of the steamer suggests he’s making something to sweeten Hunter right up.
Hunter seems surprised by the question. “Yeah, I guess so. Why?”
“Because Rhea said—”
I cut Nathan off. “I just keep hearing that folks didn’t like her, is all.”
Hunter gives me a very peculiar look that I can’t quite decipher. “Wait. Aren’t you renting her apartment? Why are you at the inn?”
Because I locked my grandmother in there to punish her for dragging me out to the boonies and dumping me with a shitty inheritance, I want to say but can’t.
“I’m moving in there, but I’d already reserved a room here for the first night.
The bathtub and breakfast were worth it.
” I give Nick and Nathan my most grateful smile, hoping a bit of praise will mean we can stop with the gossip and neither of them will bring up the fact that Maggie was my grandmother.
If Hunter’s grandmother hates my grandmother, we might be forced into a Hatfield-and-McCoy situation, and I still want to see that vineyard.
Nathan enters the room and hands Hunter a to-go cup. “We were just telling Rhea that—”
I cut Nathan off again. “They were telling me that most of Maggie’s properties are a wreck. That she couldn’t rent ’em out if she tried.”
“She had Cisco run some quotes for her to get them in shape once.” Hunter chuckles. “When she saw the estimate, she just about had a stroke.”
“Yeah, I hear she didn’t have much money, outside of the properties,” I press.
“I wouldn’t know. She certainly…” A thoughtful pause. His phone pings. He looks down, frowns. “Kept her secrets.”
“Do you know why she and your grandmother hated each other?”
Hunter gives me a probing stare. “Something that happened a long time ago. Maggie—” He abruptly stops speaking and shakes his head. “I’ll text you later, okay?” With a warm nod, he heads out.
Nathan snatches up my empty coffee mug and heads back to his magical machine, but Nick pulls out a chair and sits at the table beside me.
“Hunter’s going to text you, hmm?” Nathan sings from the other room.
I focus on my biscuit and mumble, “Maybe.”
Nick taps the table. “But he doesn’t know Maggie was your grandmother? You didn’t tell him.”
My cheeks are hot, my mouth dry with biscuit crumbs that I have to choke down before I can speak. “Okay, Dr. Phil. I didn’t tell him because I want him to text me, and he might not, if his grandmother thinks I’m a bad seed or something.”
“Rhea, lies are not a great way to start a relationship.” He says it gently but knowingly.
“Tell me about it.”
It’s too bad we can’t discuss Maggie’s current situation.
Or maybe we can.
“Do you guys know about—Grrrk!”
“You are not choking on my biscuit, because my biscuits are not dry.” Nathan puts another drink down in front of me. “And if you are choking on something else, you’d best stop it right now.”
I take a hasty sip of the latte. Maggie said the magic would not be spoken, but I didn’t know it was going to be so literal. Apparently, Nick and Nathan do not, in fact, know about magic.
“Look, I just got here yesterday,” I tell them.
“I have to find someone with great credit who wants to pay me money to rent out an apartment that looks like Stevie Nicks’s dressing room while they run a video store that is older than Stevie Nicks.
And the only thing giving me any hope at all is the thought that for one beautiful night, I might get to sit outside and watch the sunset with that pretty man while I drink some nice Moscato before driving back to my boring old life in Alabama with my annoying pet cockatoo.
” I snort. “A video store. Why’d it have to be a video store? ”
“But, Rhea,” Nick says, excited. “It doesn’t have to be a video store. You can turn it into whatever you want. There are all sorts of needs that aren’t being met downtown.”
“Oh my God!” Nathan calls from the kitchen.
“Think of all the possibilities. We haven’t had anything new in ages.
All the shops are a million years old, and nothing ever comes up for sale or lease—nothing in good condition, at least. Most of the business owners are at least sixty. The Chamber mixers are so depressing.”
Nick scoots his chair closer, and I can see now that he’s one of those people who absolutely loves a good dream—or maybe a good story.
“I’m being very serious. You have a functional storefront in an up-and-coming tourist area.
We don’t need another general store or tchotchke shop, but I swear, this square has excellent foot traffic and a dedicated Chamber of Commerce that would love a new venture to support.
So let’s see.” He leans back, grinning. “A bar would make the most money, hands down. We have MacGillicuddy’s and the pizza place, but no actual, dedicated bar. ”
“Something classy,” Nathan calls. “A speakeasy! Bespoke cocktails! Small bites! Charcuterie! We have family restaurants but no fine dining until you get to the vineyards outside town—”
“Oh, wait.” Nick shakes his head. “Not a restaurant or a bar—remember when that couple from Portland tried? It would take a ton of money to get that space up to code. And you don’t have any of the equipment. Right?”
“Right,” I echo.
Nathan joins us at the table with his own drink. “Okay, no bar or restaurant, to my sadness. But the tourists love culture. You could do a funky little art gallery. Or painting parties or Pilates—”
“Or literally anything but video rentals.” Nick shoots Nathan a wink. “Aaaaand we know someone who’s done a lot of work on downtown buildings—”
“He rebuilt this place gorgeously!” Nathan cries. “He can build whatever you want!”
“But I’m not…I mean, y’all are so kind, trying to help me, but honestly I think I just want to give up.” I feel like such a mood killer, saying it out loud. “I came up here thinking there would be a real inheritance for me and my sisters, but it’s just a lot of work. They need me back home.”
“Are they young?” Nathan asks.
“Twenty-one and twenty-four. They’re grown and functional.” I sigh and take a long, fortifying sip of my latte. “But not fiscally responsible. I’m still taking care of them, pretty much. I thought this was our lottery ticket.”
“Well, maybe it still can be,” Nick says.
“For real, Rhea. When we reopened the B&B, we didn’t know if we’d be bankrupt in a year, but we’re constantly booked.
Business is booming. Every person on the Chamber is seeing the best crowds in years.
You own prime real estate. There is literally no reason you couldn’t start a business that took care of your family.
We have savings now. Do you know anybody our age with savings? ”
Nathan comes up behind me and puts big, warm hands on my shoulders. “Let yourself dream. Close your eyes. Picture it. If you could open any business in the whole world, what would it be?”
The answer seems to float up from my heart and plop right out of my mouth. “A bookstore.”
“Yes!” Nick nearly shouts. “Yes, please! The closest bookstore is forty-five minutes up the highway, and the library has been closed for years with no end in sight. And you’ve already got shelves.”
“And let’s not forget that you own what’s left of the hardware store, so you wouldn’t even have to pay that much for materials,” Nathan adds. He gives my shoulders a friendly squeeze and steps back around the table to hip-bump his husband. “And like I said, we know an excellent builder.”
Nick leans forward, his eyes aglow. “Please tell me you’ll consider it, Rhea. That old building deserves to shine. Arcadia Falls needs new blood. And I personally need a bookstore like a flower needs the sun.”
“He does,” Nathan agrees. “The only thing he loves more than books is me. And this place. Which, might I mention, looked about as crappy as the video store when we bought it.”
They put their arms around each other and gaze at the historic home around us, glowing with pride.
I think about what it would feel like, owning a successful business.
Being the master of my dreams, my own boss.
Actually having savings. God, it would be so nice to never have to work for a Mr. Buckley again.
I can almost see it in my head, the stained ivory VHS boxes replaced with rows and rows of books.
Book clubs with chairs arranged in a circle, little kids on the rug for story time, a gift-wrapping station during the holidays.
Maybe I could invite local artists to showcase their works, sell their prints and stickers and jewelry.
All the bookstores I’ve visited lately have a whole section for little gifts. And—
Wait.
No.
What am I doing?
Yesterday, I swore I would leave this place.
Then again, yesterday I thought I could just rent out all the buildings and run right back home.
But what is there to run back to?
The same small town, the same low-paying jobs, the same tow-truck driver with a box of nails and a brother on the force who’d love nothing more than a reason to put me in handcuffs.
The same boring story told again and again.
My entire life back in Alabama would feel like treading water.
Like waiting for something real to happen.
I would never make enough money to support my sisters and have a life of my own choosing.
But maybe…maybe if I stay here, I could.
Maybe if I stay here, I can be part of a new story.
I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
“Where’s the bank?” I ask.