by Cat Johnson
So why was I sitting in my parked car on Main Street waiting for the seller’s lawyer to get into the office so I could pick up the keys to my new diner?
That was a very good question.
One other question remained—what the fuck was I going to do with it?
I stared out the side window, still admiring what might prove to be my biggest folly to date in my thirty-four years.
Hell, maybe that’s what I’d rename it.
Brandon’s Folly. I could picture the printed paper placemats now.
At least I’d finally gotten to visit Mudville. A month had passed since my first aborted attempt.
That it had taken that much time for me to get back here gutted me. And that had nothing to do with my email to my new-found supposed-cousin Amanda where I’d promised to see the town in person. It had everything to do with the pretty little owner of the bake shop located two doors down from the lawyer’s office.
The letters stenciled on the front window read Honey Buns. I would have been tempted to slip inside, no matter how bad of an idea that was, if the sign hanging inside the front window hadn’t read Closed.
Thank God. That sign saved me from myself.
I couldn’t just pop in and say hi after a month’s time. Not after first kissing and then ghosting the woman the next day.
Of course, that was through no fault of my own. I didn’t have her number. And Josh’s text had yanked me out of my hotel bed Sunday morning and I’d immediately gone racing back to the city to help deal with the scandal.
Although, I did know she owned a bakery in Mudville. Now that I saw the sign, I even remembered her mentioning the name that night.
Hell, I’d managed to find myself a diner to buy online. So why hadn’t I tried to find Bethany? I could have looked her up. I hadn’t, because—though I hated to admit it—Josh was right. I let work consume me to the exclusion of all else.
That had probably cost me this woman.
Teddygate had finally died down enough everyone in the candidate’s camp was no longer freaking out. My company had done its due diligence and crunched the numbers day and night, for days. We’d delivered our recommendations to the candidate’s digital director.
Teddygate might or might not sink his bid for the nomination, that was up to the voters now. But either way, I could honestly say we’d done all we could to help him. Which is why I’d finally felt comfortable taking a day-trip upstate to visit my new acquisition.
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost nine. Dee Flanders would be arriving any moment for our meeting.
Yes, I’d left the city before six this morning.
Why oh why had I planned a meeting at nine in the morning in a town three hours from my home?
Ugh.
I was ready for another cup of coffee, but as I glanced around me, the only potential source of caffeine was the gas station. At least, as long as the bakery remained closed.
Did Bethany normally open at nine? Ten? I didn’t know. But she was missing a good hunk of the morning crowd if she did.
Maybe my investment hadn’t been such a folly. This town needed that diner.
In addition to the residents of the small town, who didn’t have the benefit of a Starbucks on every other block the way we did in the city, how many truckers sped by Mudville on Route 88 on a daily basis?
It had to be a lot and every one of them was a potential customer. Start serving breakfast at five in the morning to get commuters. Stay open late nights on weekends to get the party people. With that plan, I could see this place being packed round the clock.
All I needed to do was find a manager willing to run it. Mina had already placed the ad. I could only hope to get a response to it.
Desperate, I was about to throw caution to the wind and get a cup of questionable brew from the gas station when a silver-haired woman carrying a tote bag half the size of her body put a key into the door lock of the office I’d been stalking.
It appeared Mudville’s only lawyer had arrived. Coffee could wait. I had keys to retrieve.
I reached for the handle and swung the driver’s side door open. I made it to the door just as the older woman was about to close it behind herself.
“Hi. I’m your nine o-clock appointment.”
She turned and smiled. “Mr. Webster. Hello.”
“Please, call me Brandon.”
“I will. And everyone around here just calls me Dee.”
Since I was now a Mudville property owner and taxpayer, I supposed that should include me as well.
I nodded. “Dee it is.”
She glanced at the bakery next door. “I’d buy you a famous Mudville honey bun for breakfast, but it seems Bethany is closed.”
Bethany’s name casually mentioned by the lawyer seemed surreal. The woman had no way of knowing that I’d already had a small taste of Bethany, if not her honey buns.
“I can make some coffee for us here, if you have the time,” she continued.
“Yes, please. I’d love some.” I followed her inside as she tossed her bag onto a chair and moved toward a single cup coffee machine on a side table.
She glanced back at me while pouring water from a gallon jug into the machine. “As you can see, there’s a need for the diner in this town.”
“I agree.”
“Creamer or sugar?” she asked.
“Just black is fine. Thanks.”
“I’ve really missed the diner being open. They used to have the best blueberry pie you’ve ever tasted. And I’d love to see someone buy the old Mudville House as well. It’s so historical.” Dee carried a steaming mug toward me.
“You’re talking about the old building across the street?” I frowned, taking the mug and wondering what else I’d missed in my cursory Mudville research.
“Yes. Teddy Roosevelt visited there. There’s a picture of him sitting at the bar hanging inside.”
My heart started to pound. I tried to sound casual as I asked, “When did it close?”
“Um, must be close to five years now. The new owner opened it for a couple of years but decided it wasn’t for him. But back in the day, Mudville House was the place to go for dinner. Best liver and onions around.” She laughed. “But now I’m dating myself. Do young folks like you eat liver anymore?”
I smiled. “Only at fancy parties as foie gras. And then mostly so I don’t insult the host. And I have a little confession. I’m not that young anymore.”
She dismissed that with the wave of one hand as she carried her own mug over. She sat and reached for a stack of papers on the desk. “So, I owe you a set of keys and copies of all the closing paperwork.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I paused a beat and couldn’t stop myself from asking, “So, uh, what are they asking for the old hotel?”
“I can give you a copy of the listing.” Dee lifted a graying brow. “I also happen to have a set of keys here. Would you like to see inside?” she asked as a smile twitched her lips.
A bar Teddy Roosevelt drank in. With photo documentation of the event. Yes, dammit, I wanted to see inside.
Fuck. If the price was anything equivalent to that of the diner, I was going to walk out of here owning not one but two properties I had no need for located three hours from where I lived and worked.
She was waiting for my answer. I was tempted and we both knew it. No use denying it.
“Yeah. I’d love to see it.” And maybe by the time we were done with the tour, a certain baker would have opened her shop and I could gorge on honey buns and try to talk myself out of buying this building.
EIGHT
Bethany
“You cannot go into the bakery.” Red narrowed her eyes as she stalked from the kitchen to the living room sofa.
She handed me the mug of tea I’d been making when she’d arrived.
More accurately, I’d been slumped over the kitchen counter trying not to fall down while waiting for the kettle to boil when she’d gotten here.
She
’d quickly hustled me out of the kitchen and onto the sofa. I hadn’t fought her all that hard about it.
“I have to go in. Adele can’t work today,” I protested.
“Then the shop will stay closed.” She folded her arms over her chest, obscuring the eighties band logo on the T-shirt she wore.
“But—”
“Would you rather open and infect the whole town with your creepy crud? That should be really good for business.” She pinned me with her icy blue stare.
I drew in a breath—which sent me into a fit of coughing.
For the past day or two, I’d blamed my stuffy nose on allergies. And I’d ignored the tickle in my throat until it turned into a raw slicing pain that made swallowing food feel like razor blades.
“You can’t go in like this.”
“It’s just a cold.” My congested defense, followed by a hacking cough, didn’t back up my words.
“It doesn’t matter. People will be freaked out.”
I sighed. It was clear. Red was right. There was no denying now that I was sick. And God help me if I got any of the old folks sick too.
I’d never hear the end of it. They’d probably accuse me of being patient zero for anyone who caught the sniffles in town for the rest of the year. They’d turn my little cold into the next global pandemic.
I cradled the mug of hot tea with lemon and honey Red had made me and managed to stop hacking up a lung long enough to take a sip.
Finally, I slumped back against the sofa. “Fine. I’ll stay home.”
“Thank you. It’s about time you listen to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I scowled.
“Humph. Let me enjoy my victory for five minutes please, before I have to open my store and deal with the shopping public.”
Having dealt with the public for a living myself, I couldn’t begrudge Red the request. “Okay. I guess I can do that. Just five minutes though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. So while I’m slaving away from ten to six, what are you going to do with your day of freedom?”
“I’ll probably fall asleep while trying to watch Hulu. If I can kick this headache, I might try reading some of Rose’s letters.”
“Aw, now I’m jealous.”
“Of my headache?” I frowned, which only made my head hurt worse.
“No, that you get to read Rose’s letters today while I’m at work. You’d better text me if you find anything amazing.”
“I will,” I promised even though as soon as Red left I was more likely going to take two ibuprofen, put a cold washrag on my head and close my eyes.
I felt like a big steaming pile of manure. Just this conversation had exhausted me.
“Guess I better go. It’s getting late,” Red said as she checked the time on her cell.
“Okay.” I tried not to be relieved. I loved Red, but I needed to sit in quiet for a while.
She shoved her phone back in the pocket of the designer blazer she wore over her vintage T-shirt and jeans with ankle boots.
Owning a resale shop gave her a style all her own. Whereas my style was usually a Honey Buns T-shirt dusted with flour and a plain white apron, which I bought by the dozen from the chef’s supply website.
“Need anything before I go?” she asked.
“No. Thank you.”
“All right.” She moved toward the door, glancing back. “Feel better.”
Doubtful . . . “Thanks.”
When the door closed behind her, I blew out a breath. As tired as I was restless, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.
I hadn’t had a whole day off in a very long time. But a day off was no fun when it was a sick day.
Speaking of my unexpected day off—I grabbed my phone and navigated to the Facebook app.
Posting a message on the bakery’s page that we’d be closed today due to unforeseen circumstances was the best I could do at the moment.
A sign on the door explaining the closure would have been better but I wasn’t going to haul myself off the sofa just to do that. Though—maybe Dee wouldn’t mind doing it for me.
I scrolled to my business neighbor’s number in my contacts list and tapped to make the call.
“Dee Flanders speaking.”
I felt a cough coming on but managed to wheeze out, “Dee. It’s Bethany.”
“Bethany. Are you okay?”
I let out a short breathless laugh. “I sound pretty bad, don’t I?”
“Well, yes, but Honey Buns being closed would have told me something was wrong even if you didn’t.”
“About that. Could you do me a favor and maybe just scribble a note and stick it on my door to let customers know we’re closed for today? I’m too sick to open.”
“Of course. I’ll do it as soon as I get back in the office. I’m with a client right now.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry. I’m bothering you in the middle of something important.”
“No, don’t apologize. I’m just across the street at the hotel. He’s upstairs looking around at the moment.”
My eyes widened. “You’ve got a buyer for the hotel?”
“We’ll see. Fingers crossed Mudville might finally have both a diner and a hotel-restaurant open for business again.”
“Um, yeah. Fingers crossed. Thanks again for putting up the sign. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hell or high water, I had to go in.
As she said goodbye, I swallowed and winced as my throat ached.
The pain was nothing in comparison to my panic.
For the past five years, since I’d opened Honey Buns, I’d been the only game in town for good coffee and fresh baked goods. That could be about to change. And what did it mean for my business?
On the plus side, the diner and the hotel could draw more customers to town. I could definitely see the gas station picking up business. The grocery store, the farm stand and Red’s Resale as well.
But would all the businesses in Mudville flourish from the increased traffic, including mine?
Would two new food establishments suddenly opening be like the last time the Muddy River flooded Main Street and the building where Honey Buns was located was underwater?
For my small bakery, would a sudden increase in direct competition be the end of me? Did a rising tide lift all boats? Or did it scuttle the smaller ones on its way through? I feared I was about to find out.
All I knew was, if I died from this cold, I wasn’t going to be able to compete at all.
My head wasn’t going to feel better until I got myself off the sofa and took something. I hoisted myself up and shuffled to the bathroom.
I finally moved enough stuff around I could spot what I needed. I reached for the bottle of extra strength cold and flu formula Nyquil and eyed the level of the green liquid. There might be just enough to knock me out for a few hours.
Hopefully, when I woke, I’d feel a little more human. And if the news of a buyer for Mudville House turned out to be nothing more than a feverish delusion, all the better.
NINE
Brandon
I wanted it. Like really wanted it. More than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Had I suddenly become a hoarder? It might not be so worrisome except what I was hoarding was Mudville real estate.
The hotel was amazing. I could feel the history to my core. From the architecture—the massive columns and second floor balconies were amazing—to the stories Dee told me about the past, everything was incredible.
And that picture of Teddy Roosevelt—I couldn’t breathe while looking at it.
It wasn’t going for as little money as the diner but, dammit, it was doable. I could swing the down payment easily. I could liquidate some assets to cover the rest. Although with interest rates so low, it might make more sense to take out a loan to pay for the hotel and leave my portfolio intact.
That I was seriously considering this was insane, because the question still remained, what the fuck would I do
with it?
The real estate taxes weren’t all that much so I suppose I could just let it sit vacant and use it as a getaway.
A getaway. I nearly laughed.
I didn’t do getaways. I was here only because Josh had forced me to take off one weekend a month ago. Something I hadn’t done again until today, and only because I wanted to see my new purchase.
But maybe I could become a getaway kind of guy if I had someplace to go.
Doubtful, since I didn’t even know what to do with myself now that my meeting was over. I had what I came for—the key to the diner and the closing paperwork.
I sighed and sat in my car with my cell in my hand. I could leave. But there was another place I wanted to see while I was here. I punched in the address for the Van de Berg house.
The GPS app said it was so close I could walk there. I decided to do just that. The town had sidewalks and it seemed lots of people and their dogs—how could one small town have so many dogs—walked everywhere in Mudville.
Feeling very much like a local, I strolled across Main Street and headed down the old cracked stone sidewalks of Mudville, heading toward the river.
The houses I passed on the side street were neat and well-kept. Smaller than the massive Victorians that graced Main Street but no less charming.
Then the old Van de Berg house came into view and I stopped dead in my tracks. Of course I recognized it from the real estate listing’s picture. What I hadn’t been able to judge online was the expanse of the sweeping lawn that led to the house, then continued down to the river’s edge.
Crap. I wanted to see inside as much as I dreaded it. I was going to fall in love with this house. I felt it.
It had been insane enough buying the diner. Considering the hotel as an investment was an iffy but justifiable move. But adding an old house to the mix was just plain crazy.
Completely overwhelmed by the prospect of taking on three Mudville properties, I decided I needed to take a breath and think about this.
Impulse purchases were fine, and I fully supported all those people who grabbed that candy bar and a tabloid at the grocery store checkout counter during a moment of weakness, but not when the impulse involved real estate.
