Chapter 9LARK #2
Josie straightens behind the register, eyeing him like she can already tell this is not a friendly drop-in. I catch her gaze and nod toward the counter. “Keep an eye on things for a bit?”
She hesitates, glancing at Tate, then back at me. “Yeah. Of course.”
I untie my apron, running my hands over the front of it before tossing it onto a stool. My fingers curl into fists at my sides for just a second. Then I let them go.
You are a tough bitch.
Tate grins when he sees me, standing from the booth with a slow, practiced ease. “Lark,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. “Pleasure as always.”
His grip is firm. A businessman’s handshake. I match it, squeezing harder than necessary.
“Wendell,” I say evenly.
He gestures for me to sit across from him, and as I do, my eyes flick to the manila folders stacked neatly on the table between us. Another contract, probably. More paperwork meant to convince me that selling the Bluebell is the best decision I’ll ever make.
He folds his hands over them, giving me a knowing smile. “So,” he drawls, tilting his head. “I take it you’ve been giving my offer some thought.”
I nod. “I have.”
His grin widens, like he thinks this is already over.
“Good. It’s a lot of money, Lark. More than most people ever see in their lifetime.
You could do a lot with it.” He leans forward, dropping his voice just slightly, like we’re sharing some kind of secret.
“Hell, Hudson could do a lot with it. College. A trust fund. A future with options.”
My stomach churns, but I keep my posture straight, my chin level. He wants me to waver, wants me to second-guess myself—but I won’t give him the satisfaction.
I press my palms against the cool surface of the table. “I’ve been thinking it over,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “And I’ve decided not to sell.”
The smile doesn’t drop completely. Not yet.
But something shifts.
A slight stiffening in his shoulders. A flicker in his eyes before he blinks, slow and measured. The air between us changes—subtle, but there.
For the first time, Wendell Tate doesn’t look quite so amused.
I don’t look away.
Wendell exhales through his nose, slow and measured, like he’s disappointed but not surprised.
He smooths a hand over his button-up, the fabric stretching across his stomach, before lacing his fingers together on the table between us.
His nails are too clean, too neat, a man who doesn’t do his own dirty work.
“Help me understand, Lark,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “What’s making you hesitate?”
“I’m not hesitating,” I say. “I’ve made my decision.”
His mouth twitches like he’s suppressing a smirk. “Fair enough,” he allows. “But you’re a smart woman. You know this kind of offer doesn’t come around often.” His voice lowers, smooth and easy. “Most people would kill for a payday like this. Wouldn’t even think twice.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m not most people.”
He huffs a small laugh, his fingers tapping the tabletop, even, patient, waiting me out.
Then he leans in slightly, voice dropping to something more intimate, like we’re just two reasonable adults discussing something over coffee.
“You care about this place. I respect that. But you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about what else is out there.
” His gaze flicks toward the counter, where Josie’s ringing someone up.
“Day in and day out, you’re in here, working yourself to the bone. You ever ask yourself why?”
I don’t answer.
His eyes flick back to me. “You work all these hours. Bust your ass. And for what?” He tilts his head slightly. “To keep things exactly the same?”
I purse my lips into a thin line.
He hums like he’s thinking something over, then leans back against the booth, completely at ease, like he knows he has all the time in the world.
“Hudson’s what—twelve? Getting older, right?
” He taps the table again. “One day, you’re gonna blink and he’ll be eighteen.
Off doing whatever it is he wants to do with his life.
College. Baseball. Maybe something you haven’t even considered yet.
” He lifts his brows. “You ever think about what you want your life to look like when that time comes?”
The question makes my stomach tighten.
“Because I’ll tell you what I see,” he continues before I can answer. “I see you still standing behind that counter. Still burning the candle at both ends. Still wondering why you’re so tired all the time.” He shakes his head slightly. “Is that really what Alice would’ve wanted for you?”
I swallow, the mention of Alice hitting its mark exactly the way he intended.
“She wanted me to take care of this place,” I say evenly. “And I’m doing that.”
“Are you?” Wendell challenges, raising a brow. “Or are you just surviving?”
His words settle between us, heavy and needle-sharp.
I feel the flicker of doubt before I can stop it.
The truth is, I don’t know if I want to be here forever. If I want to be sixty years old, still on my feet for twelve-hour shifts, still dealing with the same cracked tiles in the kitchen, still stretching every dollar just to make payroll.
I think about the map Hudson and I laid out, the places we wanted to go. The things we wanted to do. The whole damn world waiting outside of Summit Springs.
Wendell watches me carefully. “You say you want to honor Alice’s legacy.
Well, maybe this is how you do it. Maybe you let it grow into something bigger, something that can stand the test of time.
Otherwise…” He spreads his hands like he’s spelling it out for me.
“You just keep treading water. Holding on, hoping the diner makes it through another year.” His voice dips, more weighted. “Until one day it doesn’t.”
I hate that his words burrow under my skin the way they do.
Because isn’t that what I’ve worried about too? The what-ifs?
What if the economy tanks? What if an unexpected expense sinks me? What if I hold on too tightly, only to lose it anyway?
But I also know Wendell Tate didn’t walk in here just to offer me a way out.
And I’ll be damned if I let him think he’s winning this conversation.
I sit up straighter, meeting his gaze head-on. “The Bluebell is a fixture in Summit Springs, as you’ve said yourself. Feels wrong to get rid of it. Alice worked too hard for this place. I’m not selling.”
Wendell is quiet for a second. Then, slowly, he exhales through his nose and gives me a small, knowing smile.
But the energy between us is different now.
Tighter.
Sharper.
And when he speaks again, his voice is smooth as ever. But there’s something coiled underneath.
“Well,” he says, nodding slowly. “That’s a damn shame.”
Wendell doesn’t blink. Doesn’t hesitate. He reaches into his briefcase, pulls out another thick folder, and shoves it across the table toward me.
I don’t touch it.
“I thought you might say that,” he says, the warmth in his voice so manufactured it makes my skin crawl. “Figured you’d get sentimental about it all.” He tilts his head slightly. “Which is why I’ve been negotiating with one of your main suppliers.”
Something cold and sharp lodges in my chest. What the actual hell?
I still don’t touch the folder. “What?”
His smile damn near reaches his ears. “Blue Ridge Provisions,” he says, like it’s casual information, like he’s talking about the fucking weather. “They handle a good chunk of your inventory, don’t they?”
I feel my heartbeat in my throat. Blue Ridge is my biggest supplier.
They keep the diner running. The bulk of my meat, dairy, and dry goods come from them—staples I can’t afford to lose without scrambling to find another vendor.
And the thing about Summit Springs, Montana?
There aren’t many vendors to choose from.
I press my hands into my lap to keep from clenching them into fists. “You bought them out?”
He shrugs. “Technically, their parent company did.”
“Their parent company?”
He nods, his smile thin and sharp. “Redmont Foodservice acquired them last month.”
I blink. “Redmont?” The name is vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
Wendell tilts his head, watching me like he’s waiting for something to click. “They’re one of my subsidiaries.”
My stomach drops.
I press my hands harder into my lap. “Why?”
His brows lift. “Why did Redmont acquire Blue Ridge?”
“No.” I shake my head, heat rising in my chest. “Why would you buy out one of my biggest suppliers? What do you get out of that?”
Wendell sighs, like I’m a child asking why the sky is blue. “It’s simple, Lark. If you don’t want to sell, I need to make sure my investment in this town still works for me. And that means controlling the supply chains, ensuring my businesses—current and future—operate at peak efficiency.”
I stare at him, my pulse hammering. “So this is about efficiency? ”
“This is about leverage.” His tone is flat, matter-of-fact. “The Bluebell’s been a big part of Summit Springs, sure, but businesses evolve. Towns evolve. I want to make sure what I’m building here is sustainable.”
I scoff. “You mean you want to make sure you own as much of this town as possible.”
He doesn’t deny it. Just smiles, tapping the folder like it speaks for itself. “It’s good business. All the legal paperwork is in there.”
I finally move, but it’s not to grab the folder. It’s to cross my arms over my chest, to hold myself together as my pulse pounds hard enough to make me feel sick.
He watches me carefully. “Two of your other suppliers are ready to follow suit,” he continues, like this is just another business deal, just another item on his to-do list. “Won’t take much to finalize those contracts. It’s just a matter of time.”
A matter of time.
He says it like it’s inevitable. Like he’s already won.
I reluctantly reach for the folder, flipping it open with stiff fingers. Pages and pages of legal jargon blur in front of me, but I recognize the names, the signatures. The confirmation that he’s not bluffing.