Chapter 7 #2
The back room was just as I remembered—folding chairs, a battered card table, walls lined with snapshots of every teenager who’d survived a shift.
I sat, the old vinyl squeaking beneath me.
Doris reappeared with two mugs of coffee, strong and dark as engine oil.
No whiskey in them, either. “Want to talk about it?” The silence stretched until she sighed. “Let me guess. It’s a guy.”
I choked. “Isn’t it always?”
“Only for the ones worth the trouble.”
I stared into my mug, inhaling the steam. “I thought we had something, and he just… walked out. Now I don’t know what to do.”
Doris nodded, unsurprised. “Men can be like ice cream on a hot day. Sweet, then gone before you blink.” She laid a heavy, calloused hand over mine. “You don’t need to leave, Brynn. This island’s big enough for a broken heart and a comeback.”
I squeezed her hand. “I don’t think I can. We were together less than a week! How can every corner, every breath of bracing air, remind me of him? Remind me that I’m here alone?”
“That’s not a reason to run. That’s a reason to fight for what you want.” Doris inhaled and leveled a sharp glance at me. “A chain out of Tampa made an offer on the Scoop yesterday. A good one. I told them I’d think about it.”
The words landed like a punch. “Really?”
“I hate the idea of selling to a chain. But I’m tired, Brynn. After our talk…” She leaned in. “Are you sure you don’t want to buy the shop? Because if you do, I need to know today.”
The room spun. “I can’t, Doris! I’m a teacher. I don’t know anything about running a business.”
She barked a laugh. “Bullshit. You ran this shop for two months that summer when my knee gave out. You know more than most.”
I shook my head, the excuses sounding weak, even to me. “I’ve never owned anything. What if I fail?”
What if Rob was right? What if I am utterly unambitious and this is just a fantasy?
Doris squeezed my hand so hard my knuckles blanched. “So what? Life’s not about getting it right on the first try. Sometimes you have to say yes, even if it scares you.”
The silence that followed was heavier, but also brighter. I looked around the little shop—the photographs, the ancient espresso machine, the rainbow of scoops. I thought about what it would mean to have this, to belong, to stay. My heart twisted.
“I’ll think about it,” I whispered.
Doris nodded, satisfied. “Good. You’ve got until close of business. But if you walk away, you’ll always wonder.”
She stood and returned to her routine as if the fate of the Scoop and my life weren’t hanging in the balance.
I stayed in that chair a long time, listening to the thumping whirr of the ancient AC.
The question wasn’t whether I wanted the Scoop.
The question was whether I was brave enough to want anything at all.
I stared at my reflection in the bottom of the coffee cup and tried to imagine a future where I didn’t run away. It looked better than I expected.
After a while, Doris reappeared in the doorway. “You’re still here, huh?”
I rested my head in my hands. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I love the idea of owning this place. It’s home to me in a way Atlanta has never been. But, Doris, I’m a school teacher! I’ve been responsible with my money, but I don’t have a trust fund, you know. How could it possibly work?”
She nodded sagely. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll be back.”
I blinked at the empty doorway. What could she be up to?
True to her word, Doris was soon back in the Scoop’s back room, car keys in one hand.
“Let’s go,” she barked.
“Huh? Go where?”
“As you rightly pointed out, we need some counsel. So we’re off to the bank. Come on, girl. Time’s a-wastin’.”
She flipped the sign to Closed before relocking the door behind us. The air on Main Street shimmered over the pavement as we marched down the sidewalk. Doris set a pace that bordered on a power walk, and I trailed behind, my heart thudding.
We rounded the corner to the Dove Key Community Credit Union. Doris marched right over to a corner office, where a middle-aged Hispanic woman in a smart business suit, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, sized us up. “Afternoon, Doris. This the one you mentioned?”
Doris patted my back. “Yep. This is Brynn Vance. Brynn, this is the small business loan officer, Gloria Suarez.”
After we shook hands, Gloria smiled and motioned us to sit at a table inside her glass-walled office. “I can get you some coffee. Cream and sugar, or just nerves?”
“Just nerves,” I said with a laugh. Then I pointed at my T-shirt and shorts. “No thanks. I would have dressed more appropriately if I’d known we were coming here.”
“Nonsense,” Doris added. “When something’s right, appearances don’t matter.”
Gloria shut the door and sat across from us.
“I’m familiar with Doris’s books. She runs a great business, but transition is always tricky.
The first step isn’t a mountain of paperwork—it’s a handshake on paper.
It’s called a Letter of Intent.” She pulled out a folder.
“It says you’re formally expressing your interest in buying the Corner Scoop based on the outlined terms. It allows me to start the official loan underwriting and tells Doris she can take the property off the market while we work out the details.
It’s the first step.” She laid out a few sheets outlining the seller-financing terms Doris proposed over the phone.
Doris was willing to carry the loan. For me. I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat.
“It’s a good deal, Brynn,” Gloria continued.
“Since it’s seller-financed, Doris will be your partner for the first few years.
She’ll retain a minority stake in the business until the initial loan is paid down.
That means she has skin in the game, which the bank loves to see.
On top of that, she’s agreed to stay on as an advisor through the first summer to make sure you land on your feet.
This is Dove Key. We look out for our own. ”
I glanced at Doris, my mouth hanging open. A partner? This was more than just a sale. She was offering me a safety net woven from her own legacy. “Doris! I can’t believe this. Are you sure?”
She responded with a wink, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “This is the right move. I feel it in my achy old bones, honey.”
Turning back to the paper, I tried to process the numbers, but my fears were louder. “I don’t even know if I’d be approved for a loan.”
“Well, let’s find out,” Gloria said with a practical smile. “With your permission, I can run a preliminary credit check right now. It’ll give us a good idea of where you stand.”
I nodded, my heart knocking against my ribs as I handed over my driver’s license. Gloria tapped on her keyboard for a moment. Her printer whirred. She examined the report, and her professional smile became genuine.
“Well, Brynn,” Gloria said, turning the paper so I could see. “You have an excellent credit score. Clean history, low debt-to-income. From the bank’s perspective, you’re a very solid bet.”
Doris leaned back, satisfied. “Told you it’s doable.”
The validation was a balm on my frayed nerves. My entire future balanced on the edge of this moment.
Gloria pushed a single-page document toward me. “It’s just the Letter of Intent for now. If you sign, we start the process. You can walk away any time before closing. But this is you telling us—and yourself—that you’re serious.”
I stared at the fancy bank pen, the urge to run warring with the urge to reach for my dream.
Doris caught my eye. “You said you wanted something different, kid. This is it. And I’d never hang you out to dry. I’ve got your back, girl.”
My hands were sweating. I wiped them on my shorts and picked up the pen.
The tip hovered over the signature line.
I thought about Atlanta, about the empty apartments and safe choices that had stopped being fulfilling long ago.
Then I thought about seventeen-year-old me, scraping gum off tabletops for minimum wage and loving every second.
I pressed the pen to the paper and signed. My signature was a bit of a disaster—crooked, letters running together—but it was there.
My name, on the line.
When I set the pen down, Doris’s hand found my shoulder. “Atta girl.”
Gloria stood, beaming. “Congratulations, Brynn. You’re about to have an unforgettable summer.”
Outside, the sun shined with more promise and fewer UV rays. Main Street looked different—not smaller, but more possible. More mine.
When we returned to the Corner Scoop, Doris insisted we celebrate. “Only a banana split will do.”
She made us each a triple scoop and insisted we eat it on the porch, the world’s messiest victory lap.
My heart still twisted at the memory of Dean.
At what had started here but had never had a chance to blossom.
In the end, I’d been willing to fight for what I wanted.
If he couldn’t do the same, dammit, he didn’t deserve me.
As I licked a streak of chocolate ice cream from the spoon, I watched small-town life go by. Kids rode bikes, a dog stole fries at a café across the street, a couple argued in lazy, affectionate tones.
And my life clicked into place.
At last, I wasn’t settling and calling it safety. I was reaching toward a dream, and it was sweet as hell.