Chapter 17 Stormy
Stormy
"You bought this place?" Missy asks, her voice sharp with disbelief as she points to the building we're driving towards.
She glances at me; confusion etched across her features.
"Hmm," I murmur, studying the structure carefully as we approach. Something isn't right.
The drive up was everything I’d imagined.
We passed fields of nothing but grass and grazing animals, the occasional barn dotted here and there, slouched in the distance like they’d grown tired of standing.
As we got closer to town, the trees grew taller and more frequent, looming over the road like quiet sentinels.
Then came the shops and buildings, the kind you’d expect in a small-town romance novel.
All different shapes and sizes, with chipped paint, crooked signs, and a kind of charm that felt worn-in and real.
Missy watches me as I rummage through my bag, searching for the documents detailing my purchase. I flip through the pages until I land on the one with photos of the place. My eyes flick between the image in my hand and the rundown building before me.
This can't be it.
I hold the paper up against the windshield, comparing the two.
The structure is the same, no doubt about it.
A small, white, single storey building with an angled roof, its silhouette faintly reminiscent of an old church.
But where the photo shows a neatly painted facade, inviting and well-maintained, with narrow windows, covering almost the entire edge of the building, the reality is anything but.
The building in front of me is a wreck. Weathered, neglected, abandoned for far longer than the paperwork suggests.
The windows, once beautiful and divided into patchworks of delicate glass squares, like something out of an old fairytale, gave the building in the photo a warm, old-world charm.
Now, some panes are shattered, with jagged edges catching the light like broken promises, while others are clouded with years of grime and dust, their surfaces streaked and dulled by rain and neglect.
Weeds grow from the walls, creeping through cracks in the glass, stretching across the ground outside, as though nature has quietly begun to reclaim what was left behind.
"Looks like it," I mutter, exchanging a worried look with Missy.
The place sits tucked away down a quaint cul-de-sac in a quiet corner of the town, bordered by tall trees that sway gently in the breeze.
The building is secluded but still close enough to be part of the community.
According to the documents, it was once a bustling community centre.
But judging by the state of it, "once" was a very long time ago.
A car is parked right outside, and a man leans against it, clearly waiting for us. Missy pulls up beside him, and we step out, both glaring at the building as if it's personally offended us.
"Ah, there she is!" the seller calls out, his tone overly cheerful as he straightens up. "Welcome to your new investment!"
I stare at him, then back at the crumbling structure. My stomach sinks.
"This isn't what I bought," I say flatly, holding up the page with the pristine photo. "This looks nothing like the place you advertised."
His grin falters for a second before he quickly recovers, waving off my concern with a chuckle.
"Ah, well, pictures can be a little ... optimistic, can't they?" He shrugs. "Bit of wear and tear, sure, but nothing a little elbow grease won’t fix."
Missy scoffs beside me.
"A little? This place looks like it hasn’t been touched in years."
I turn back to the seller, my frustration bubbling.
"You misrepresented it. The listing said it was in good condition. This isn’t even close."
His expression shifts, his pleasant facade cracking as irritation creeps in.
"Look," he sighs, checking his watch impatiently. "The sale’s gone through. Nothing I can do about it now.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already moving, reaching into his pocket.
"I’ve got another appointment to get to," he continues dismissively, pulling out a set of keys and holding them out. "So, here … it's all yours."
"Unbelievable," I mutter under my breath, taking the keys from his grasp.
"Pleasure doing business," he says, smirking before slipping back into his car.
I watch as he drives away, leaving us standing in front of this disaster of a purchase. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if a thick cloud of smoke burst from his engine and swallowed us whole, just to drive home how utterly dire our situation is.
Missy exhales slowly.
"What. A. Dick.”
We both stand there in silence for a moment, taking the place in.
I should have put more effort into researching the building.
Should have asked more questions, dug deeper, done something other than blindly trusting the listing.
But I was too preoccupied, too focused on escaping Sam, on chasing the life I wanted at the ranch, and on building something new for myself. At the time, it had seemed simple.
It's just a building; I had told myself. How hard could it be to clean it up a little? You throw on a fresh coat of paint and voila!
But now, looking at the cracked windows, the peeling paint, the air of neglect hanging over it like a warning, I realise, this isn’t just a fixer upper.
This is a problem.
"I guess we'd better check it out then," Missy says, snapping me out of my thoughts as she gestures toward the front door.
Oh, no. I hadn’t even thought about the inside.
Surely it can’t be that bad.
"Yeah, I guess so," I mumble, forcing my legs to move as I step toward the door.
My fingers tremble as I slide the key into the lock, listening for the telltale click. I pull down on the handle, and the door groans in protest, creaking loudly before jamming halfway open. Gritting my teeth, I nudge it with my shoulder, then shove harder, finally forcing it free.
We step inside.
And something inside me sinks.
The smell hits first— stale, thick, and tinged with dampness.
Dust swirls in the air, disturbed by our entrance and catching the muted sunlight that filters through gaps in the grimy windows.
The floor is warped, uneven, with patches of discolouration where water has seeped in over the years.
Peeling wallpaper curls in jagged strips, hanging limply from the walls.
It’s worse than I imagined.
"Oh," Missy says, dragging out the single syllable as she surveys the damage.
I release a shaky breath, my fingers tightening around the keys in my hand.
"This was supposed to be a bookshop," I murmur, barely recognizing my own voice. "A cosy little space, warm, inviting. Somewhere people could escape into stories."
I scan the room, trying to picture shelves lining the walls, a reading nook tucked in the corner, the scent of fresh coffee wafting through the air. But that dream feels so distant now, buried beneath the rotting wood and suffocating dust.
Missy nudges a fallen ceiling tile with the toe of her boot. "Well … maybe it still could be?"
I stare at her.
She shrugs. "I mean, it’s a disaster, yeah, but disasters can be fixed. Walls can be painted, and floors can be repaired. It’s not like it’s impossible."
I let out a slow breath, staring at the space around me. It’s bad—worse than I expected, but Missy’s right. It can be fixed. "You’re right," I say finally, nodding as if convincing myself as much as her. "It’s not impossible. It just needs a hell of a lot of work."
Missy gestures around.
“Well … at least it’s got character. Although maybe a few structural regrets.”
I laugh, but this time, it’s lighter. Less bogged down with disappointment. "Good thing I don’t give up that easily."
This building mirrors everything I’ve been feeling lately: broken in places, worn down by neglect, and misuse. But it’s still standing. Still here. And maybe that’s enough.
My mind begins to spin, piecing together a plan.
The rest of the money from my inheritance is enough to cover repairs, at least the big ones.
And the rest? I’ll figure it out. I’ll roll up my sleeves, learn what I need to, put in the sweat equity myself.
Because this place isn’t just a project.
It’s proof that I can start over. That I don’t have to be defined by the damage, I can be the one who rebuilds.
I will get this place how I want it. Because I refuse to let this stop me.
Just like I refuse to let Ford’s hesitation hold me back either.
His doubt wasn’t cruel, but he obviously doesn’t think I can make this work. But I’m determined to prove him wrong.