Chapter 3
ETHAN
My phone buzzed while I was eating cereal on the couch, and I almost let it go to voicemail again. But I'd been doing that for too long, and it hadn't gotten me anywhere, so I picked up. "This is Ethan."
"Ethan, hi. This is Derek Paulson. I left you a voicemail about the mixed-use building on Clayborne."
"Right." I set my bowl down. "You got my message, then?"
"I did, and I’d like to meet up so we can discuss a possible purchase."
I nodded to myself even though he couldn’t see me. "Yeah, that’s fine. But, uh, what’s the offer?"
Papers shuffled on his end. "I'd love to go over the full offer in person. I think you'll find it's well above market for the area."
Above market sounded good, even though I had no idea what the market price might be. Daddy always handled that stuff. "I’m free tomorrow."
"Tomorrow works great. Does ten o'clock work for you?"
I sighed, resigned to the fact that I was actually doing this. "Yeah, sure. Ten’s good."
"Wonderful. I’ll meet you at the Clayborne Street address."
"Okay.” Not like I ever left this place. “I'll wait for you downstairs."
Derek was already on the sidewalk when I went downstairs the next morning. It was only nine forty-eight, so he must have really wanted the building. That was probably good for me moneywise. Although it could’ve been he was here to pressure me to take the first offer. Time would tell.
He had a leather folder under his arm and held his hand out when he saw me coming. "Ethan.”
I nodded.
“Derek. Thanks for making time to see me in person."
"Sure." I invited him and tried to ignore all the feelings that still overwhelmed me. To him it was just an empty room, but to me, it was the end of an era that never fully began. “Nice to meet you.”
He walked slowly through the space, grunting at some things and jotting down notes at others.
Then he stopped at the counter and laid out a single sheet.
"We're prepared to offer four hundred and twenty thousand.
" He slid the paper toward me. "That's a hundred grand above what you paid two years ago. "
I had to take his word because I couldn’t remember what we paid. I wasn’t sure what we owed either, but I didn’t think it was more than two hundred, so that would be a nice profit. Enough to start over somewhere else. “That seems fair, but how soon would I have to be gone?”
He uncapped a pen and set it on top of the paper. "We can work around whatever you need."
Whatever I need? Clearly he didn’t know I’d barely left my apartment in eight months. I picked up the pen and teeter-tottered it in my fingers. The number looked good and would give me a new life somewhere. I could walk away from the unfinished walls and unopened equipment.
The unopened dream.
Fuck, was this the right thing to do? I didn’t know anymore. I never knew. I just needed a sign that this was what Rand would have wanted. That I had his permission to move on from what we’d believed would be our life together.
The damn pen slipped between my fingers and rolled off the counter. “Sorry.” I crouched down to feel around for it under the cabinet and my fingers caught on something else beside the pen. A piece of paper. I pulled it out along with the pen and stood up.
It was a sticky note that I couldn’t remember seeing before. Maybe I did, or maybe it fell under the cabinet before I noticed it. But the handwriting on it was so unmistakable it stole my breath.
Rand had sketched a small logo in the corner for The Daily Grind. Below it, in his neat printing, was the message I needed.
The dream is becoming a reality. We’ve got this, baby.
I stared at it as my eyes welled up.
Derek took a step closer to look at it over my shoulder. "Everything okay?"
I turned the note over in my hands and then back again like there might be something on the other side. There wasn’t anything else, but what was there was enough. It was what I needed to see.
I took a deep breath and set the pen down without signing anything. "I'm sorry to waste your time, but I'm not selling."
He looked shocked, like he didn’t know what had just happened. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm not selling the building." I folded the sticky note and put it in my pocket. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not ready to let it go. If I change my mind, I’ll give you a call."
He stood there for a second before he nodded and backed away. "I hope to hear from you." Without another word, he let himself out, and I listened to his footsteps on the sidewalk until they faded.
It wasn’t easy to take that first step, but I finally forced my feet to move, and I went to the storage room in the back where Rand had stacked the paint cans we'd bought. I grabbed the first two I found, as well as a roller and the tray, then went back to the front lobby.
Rand wanted to go with a warmer palette, but I leaned toward cool and bright. But this was a light cocoa that felt surprisingly cozy for such a neglected space. He was right. He usually was.
I poured the paint into the tray and started on the east wall.
It was slow going at first, but I got into a rhythm and was pleased when the first wall was finished. Having some color on the walls made the room feel different. Less abandoned.
If only a change of color could do the same for me.