6. Grant
Grant
I was up half the night thinking about Annabelle. And about me. It was such a dick move to leave like that, especially without an explanation. But staying would be worse. I did the right thing. So why do I feel like shit about it?
Annabelle lives here. That means I’ll see her again. I’ll run into her at the library, or the coffee shop, or the post office. Sooner or later, we’ll have to make polite Midwest small talk. If she’ll even talk to me.
When I get back to town, I park on the street, since the parking lot beside The Break is full of last night’s snow.
Felix will plow it for me if I ask him, but it’s usually an afterthought.
If I owned the building, I’d hire a service to maintain the parking lot all winter, but I’m just a renter.
My landlord died last year, God rest his soul, and I’ve been paying the estate through the lawyer ever since.
I never set out to be a business owner. When I was eighteen, I needed to get out of Echo Creek.
The army offered a one-way ticket to anywhere, so I took it.
When I was in California, some guys in my unit started going to a local rage room.
I thought it would be a one-off, but they liked it enough to keep going back, and I watched the way they dropped real dollars for the chance to smash things.
I’d already been in the military ten years at that point, with very little to show for it, and this seemed like my way out.
I found this building, put up the walls and the control booth, and started scouting for breakables.
I’ve cultivated a network of estate brokers and flea market jobbers, but if we get low on inventory, I’ll scour garage sales and thrift stores myself.
Today, I got a nice set of Royal Stafford dishware for a song. I’ll skim off the intact pieces for the front of the house. Anything chipped or scratched will get thrown against a wall or beaten into unrecognizable bits.
My sister’s waiting for me in the maker area up front. June hands me a latte from The Grind, along with a chocolate bar. “Thank you,” I say. “What’d you win this time?”
“Ten bucks at the church raffle,” she says with a little toss of her head. “Just enough for coffee and chocolate.”
“I put ten bucks into the church raffle. I should have given it directly to you. Cut out the middle man.”
“That’s not how winning works.”
“I wouldn’t know.” I go out for another load of dishes.
June has the first box unpacked and sorted by the time I bring in the other two. “Look at this sugar bowl,” she says. It’s got apples around the rim and leaves painted on the bottom. “The ladies are going to fight over this. Too bad about the cream pitcher.”
“I’ll take that.” I swipe the pitcher with its missing handle.
June puts down her coffee to dig through the boxes. “Told you this would be a good lot. Totally worth the trip.”
“Says the woman who didn’t drive forty-five minutes each way.”
“I just find. You have to fetch.”
I give her a grumpy growl, but the truth is, I like working with my sister. She’s excellent at running the maker space, doing everything from hosting birthday parties to handling our advertising, leaving me free to run the rage room.
June hands me a stack of chipped plates. “Lia Sellers called. She’s coming in at eleven. She wants to introduce you to the new landlord.”
I suck an angry breath through my nostrils. “It’s not Ender, is it?”
“She didn’t say.”
Ted Ender is a developer from Chicago who’s been sniffing up and down the lakeshore, and has set his sights on Echo Creek.
He and his far-off investors aren’t content with driving up the cost of local housing by turning all the available real estate into Airbnbs.
Now, he’s making outrageous offers for storefronts in hopes of renting them to franchises like Starbucks and Subway.
So far, the chamber of commerce and the city council—basically the same handful of people—have been able to fend him off. Unfortunately, the mayor thinks Ender is a “strategic thinker” with “worthwhile ideas,” so it’s an uphill battle.
The mere mention of Ted Ender brings an unhealthy amount of bile to my throat and I have the urge to spit. I’m swallowing the last of my coffee to wash away the urge when the front door opens and Lia comes in, followed by Annabelle.
I pull the cup away from my face so fast coffee dribbles down my chin and onto my shirt. I swipe it away. “No.”
Annabelle manages a small wave. “Hi.”
“No,” I repeat as it all clicks. This is why Annabelle moved here in the dead of winter. This is why she was oddly gleeful about Echo Creek. This is why my life is about to get very, very complicated.
My ears ring with an anxious buzz that makes it hard to hear when Lia, all smiles, tells me who owns my building now. My sister’s acting like she’s friends with Annabelle already. They’re laughing and bouncing. June gives a happy shoulder shimmy.
I’m not laughing. I’m not shimmying. I grasp the bottom hem of my flannel shirt, roll it up a few times, and let it go. I cut my eyes to the door and then back to my sister. “What are you doing?”
“We met this morning,” June says. “Immediate besties. Instagram official.”
“Perfect,” Lia says, even though it’s anything but. “You’re going to be great neighbors. Have wine nights. Share the WiFi.”
“Cool, cool,” I say. Not at all cool.
“I have to go.” Lia turns to me. “Didn’t Stan give you a key to the other unit? Annabelle’s going to need that.”
I unhook the key from my ring and place it on the table in front of me, backing away from it as if it’s radioactive. Did Felix leave the apartment a mess last night? Is she going to think I did it? Should I say something?
Lia gives Annabelle a giant folder of paperwork and heads out. The silence in her wake stretches to an uncomfortable degree.
Last night, Annabelle was beautiful in soft bar light and the haze of alcohol.
Framed by daylight, she somehow looks even prettier.
Her hair is clipped back, her skin dewy, with a faint blush on her cheeks.
She’s wearing those tight jeans again, this time tucked into warm boots.
Her sweater is the same blue as her eyes, which I tear my gaze from the moment I notice.
I am so screwed.
Annabelle folds her hands into her sleeves. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t plan this.”
“You didn’t have to,” I say miserably. “The universe clearly hates me.”
“I inherited the building,” Annabelle says. “I didn’t choose to own your chaos.”
June’s head is swiveling back and forth between us. “Wait…you two know each other?”
“No,” I say.
“Barely,” Annabelle says at the same time. We share a grimace.
“I can’t believe you inherited my building,” I say.
“Your building?” Annabelle takes a step forward. “You don’t even have this address listed on your license.”
June swats his arm. “You didn’t change that yet? How many times have I told you?”
“I’ll get to it,” I say, still focused on Annabelle. “You didn’t think to mention that you owned this building when we—” I stop myself just in time, cut my eyes to June, and gesture vaguely in the air. “—ran into each other last night?”
June regards us like she’s watching her favorite sitcom. “So, you’ll be living upstairs?”
“Temporarily,” Annabelle says. “Until I can figure out other arrangements.”
“Not likely.” I go back to sorting dishes, giving the plate in front of me a very thorough examination, looking for hairline cracks.
“Yeah,” June agrees. “It’s impossible to find long-term rentals in Echo Creek. You’re lucky you’ve got your own place here.”
“Not feeling super lucky at the moment,” Annabelle says.
“What do you want?” I ask. “A ribbon cutting? Confetti? A spontaneous duet?”
“Ohhh, fun!” June chirps. “I’ll sing with you.”
“No thank you,” Annabelle and I say at the same time. We whip our heads around to stare at each other.
“Anyway,” Annabelle says. “I’m going to go get my stuff. I’ll stay out of your way. I just want you to know that I’m not here to change anything.” She takes the key and turns to go. “I’ll see you around.”
“Unless the building collapses.” Fingers crossed.
“He’s kidding,” June says. She gives Annabelle a miniature hug. “Let me know if you need help with your luggage.”
“I don’t have much.” There’s a sad note in her voice. “Later, June. Bye, Grant.”
June watches her go and then rounds on me the minute the door closes. “Oh. My. God. That was—”
“Don’t.”
“—chemistry.”
“That was panic.” I slump into a chair and put my head in my hands. Of all the ways last night could come back and bite me, it had to be the one with legal authority and keys to my front door.
June leans over the table. “Your cheeks are red.”
“I’m moving. To Mongolia. I’ll live in a yurt.”
June nods. “Cool. I’ll tell your landlord.”
“You knew about this. And you didn’t warn me.”
“When was I supposed to tell you? I just met her this morning.” June studies me closely. Too closely. “When did you meet her?”
I push her face away from mine. “Remember when we were kids and I’d save you from Felix and Blake trying to mess up your hair or give you wet willies?”
“Yeah?”
“I regret every single instance.”
There’s a thump above us. I look up, remembering that I’m an adult with adult problems.
“At least the building didn’t sell to Ender,” June says.
I shake my head. “Nobody wants to live above a rage room.”
“True.”
I point to the ceiling. “She won’t either. And when she gets fed up enough to move out, guess who’s going to be there with a generous offer?”
We’re silent for a moment as we both consider that. I look around my business, the one I built from the ground up, mentally overlaying the space with a corporate sandwich chain. The bile is rising again.
June slaps me on the back. “Only one solution, bro.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let her move out.”