Chapter 19 Mason
Mason
The final day of Sunshine Fest begins early, with a sunrise yoga session on the beach led by Sierra.
I hear about it from Abby when she comes into work. I’m tied up most of the morning helping out at the community brunch, and the bar and the cider house are both busy again from opening until close.
I don’t even see Sierra all day.
At this point, I’m fucking gutted about her leaving. I want to see her, badly. I feel like shit about making an offer on Pier Seven and not telling her.
I wonder if June turning her down is my fault.
There’s so much that’s been left unsaid, undone, between us.
But what am I supposed to do—turn around and ask June to lease the building to Sierra instead of selling it to me?
I can’t give up that building.
But I’m fucking deeply conflicted.
Because I don’t want to give her up, either.
Not my choice.
I keep trying to remind myself that it’s her choice to leave Orchard Cove. That she has a life back in the city. That our relationship hasn’t evolved beyond sex anyway.
But I know I’m fucking lying to myself.
I like her more than I ever thought I would.
And that’s nothing but a mistake.
She left after we had sex in my bed, while I was sleeping, without a word.
And after we had sex in her cottage, she asked me to leave.
Last night, when I walked her home, she didn’t even kiss me or invite me in.
She’s asked me, more than once, to reassure her that we’re still enemies. Making a game of it, maybe, but definitely trying to keep me at a distance.
She’s told me, loud and clear, the way she wants it.
This is just sex.
I’m leaving.
This isn’t my home.
I don’t know why it’s so fucking hard for me to accept it.
When I leave the bar just before closing, the beer and cider garden is still fairly full. Layne’s band, the Imposters, are closing out the festival with a finale show on the main stage.
The warm but bittersweet romance of Blue Rodeo’s “Try” drifts through town as I make my way through the festival crowd.
I’m planning to drop by the cider house for closing.
But when I walk by Pier Seven on my way to the beach walk, I hesitate.
There are still a few customers inside, lights twinkling in the windows, and I glimpse Sierra behind the counter.
She’s laughing at whatever her friend Sophie is saying to her.
And I feel happy for her, even as my heart fucking breaks.
Jesus Christ. I’ve got it bad.
The lights along the pier are on, and past a group of teens hanging out halfway down, I glimpse the lone figure standing at the end, just beyond the last light, silver hair floating in the night.
I walk out there and join her. “Giving some thought to my offer?”
June glances up at me. “Actually, yes.”
I lean on the railing next to her. Water laps at the wood beams below. Along the beach, people are gathering to get a good spot for the upcoming fireworks show.
“Really? I didn’t even tell you my sales figures yet. Did Sierra tell you about our . . . little wager?”
June raises an eyebrow. “She didn’t.”
“She bet me that she could outsell the bar during the festival. Food only.”
She laughs dryly. “Well, that was bold of her. And foolish.”
“She deserves a real chance at this, June,” I say seriously.
“Maybe we could work something out. You let Sierra lease Pier Seven for the rest of summer, and I buy it from you in October or November. I can have it up and running with a pop-up for the holidays, then get started on renovations, have the new restaurant open by the spring.”
“I’m not leasing Pier Seven out, Mason,” she says. “And I’m not selling it, either.”
“What?”
“Look.” She turns toward me. “I was going to have my realtor let you know once the festival is done, just let us all enjoy the weekend.”
“But . . . ?”
“But I can’t accept your offer. If this year’s festival has proved anything to me, it’s that I don’t want to let the building go. I seriously considered it, yes, when your parents were part of the equation. But they’re not. And that’s reality.”
I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing. “So, you’d rather have it sit empty than belong to my family, so we can run a restaurant in it to benefit the community?”
“No, Mason. I’d rather hold onto it because it is a special place in this community.
And I’ve always wanted to utilize it. But it hasn’t been possible when I’ve had to make so many adjustments over the years as my family has gradually left Twisted Tree.
The cidery is profitable. But now the guesthouse is also profitable.
And I can leverage some of those resources to bring Pier Seven back to life. ”
I shake my head. “You’re making a mistake—”
“Maybe I am. And maybe I thought there would be more time to figure it all out. But with your parents gone, and Sierra Daniels coming to town and breathing new life into this place . . . Who knows? I’m feeling inspired.”
“June, you can’t be serious.”
“Can’t I? You young people can be quite inspiring. You remind an old lady that some things are worth fighting for.”
Shit. Is that the message Sierra and I have sent her?
Our competing interests in the building just made June want it more?
Fuck me.
“But didn’t you invite Sierra here to compete with me? To drive up the price? I thought that was the whole point. To squeeze me, or maybe her, out of as much as you could get for the building.”
June actually looks offended at the thought.
“I invited her here because I saw some of my younger self in her. Or . . .” She sighs.
“Maybe I saw the young woman I really wish I’d been.
If I’d had half the ingenuity she has at her age, I might’ve made better choices, instead of coasting on the efforts my parents put in before me.
And quite frankly, I resented your presumption that Pier Seven would be yours, just because of the work your parents put in before you. ”
“Your grandfather won Pier Seven on a gamble,” I say, frustrated, “and for generations, your family has mismanaged it, neglected it, and hoarded it. And now you’re taking a gamble on some vague idea that you might one day figure out how to run a restaurant?
Instead of taking a legitimate, above-market-value offer?
From someone who knows what it takes and is more than willing to do the work? ”
“Don’t be condescending, Mason. I’ll be consulting with other local businesses, suppliers, and producers in the coming months, and I will figure it out.”
“And that’s it? You won’t even negotiate?”
Her steely eyes sharpen at me as the sea breeze whips her hair around her face. “Let me be crystal clear with you, Mason Grant. I will never negotiate with you or your brother or your grandfather, unless he apologizes to me first.”
For a moment, I’m speechless.
“For . . . what?”
“Why don’t you ask him.”
June starts to walk away.
“Can I at least be one of these local business owners you consult with?” I ask her, fucking desperate.
She pauses, considering that.
“Of course you can. Your family has deep roots in this community. Maybe I’ll even sell your products at my new restaurant. It’s more than you’ve ever done for me.” And with that, she leaves me on the pier.
I find my grandpa sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of Water Street, way at the back of the crowd, alone. People-watching, as he likes to do, and enjoying the music. Layne’s band is now playing a Dirty classic, “Road Back Home.”
I crouch down next to him. “How’s the show?”
Grandpa nods toward the band. “He looks so much like your dad when he plays guitar.”
“I thought I was the one who looked like Dad.”
Grandpa chuckles. “Careful, that sounded like jealousy.”
I watch the band for a minute in silence. “June rejected my offer to buy Pier Seven.”
After a moment, Grandpa says, “Did you expect anything different?”
“Yes. A part of me did.”
He sips his beer. Grunts. “Juniper Spencer isn’t gonna do a single thing you want her to. Not as long as I’m alive.”
“She said she’ll consider carrying our products at the restaurant she’s going to open.”
He snorts. “Believe it when you see it. Until then . . . don’t believe a word that woman says.”
How many times have I heard him say that over the years?
Innumerable.
“Grandpa. Is there any way you would ever consider apologizing to her?”
He scowls at me. “For what?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Whatever you did that hurt her so bad.”
He fixes his gaze on the band again. “Yeah. I hurt her. That’s a good one.”
After I lock up at the cider house, I feel ancient. This day felt like it was never going to end. And at the same time, I feel impossibly young. Naive and jaded all at once.
Fucking stubborn old people.
Dealing with Tommy and June is like trying to push a boulder up a steep hill with my bare hands and flip-flops on my feet.
When I walk back over to Water Street, the band is done, the stage empty. The market stalls have closed and packed up, the crowds have thinned out, and the only music comes from Pier Seven.
Sierra set up speakers outside the smoothie bar for the festival, and lights in the windows that twinkle in time to the music. “No Scrubs” drifts down Water Street, making me think of her, in my bar, singing the same song into a cider bottle that first night we met.
I see Sierra, alone, behind the counter at Cutie Fruitie as I approach and nudge the door open.
She looks up as I walk in, and I’m really not sure how to read that expression on her face.
“Closing up?”
“Yeah. I was just about to lock the doors.”
“You watching the fireworks?”
She blinks. “Um. Yeah. I think Sophie was getting a spot for us on the beach.”
“Cool.” I rub the back of my head. “Any chance you want to take a drive?”
I wait, heart thrumming, as she absorbs my offer.
Then I’m rewarded when she smiles.