Honey Buns: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Cat Johnson

“Why would a guy from New York City want to buy up all the real estate—commercial and residential—here in Mudville, of all places?” I asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Who is he? Did you get his name?”

  “Yup. Brandon Webster. Not sure what he does for a living but he said he worked in the city.”

  I didn’t hear much of what Boone said after he revealed this mystery millionaire’s name. Brandon.

  My Brandon.

  Though not really mine, was he? The month between that night and now with no communications made that clear.

  I remembered all the questions he’d asked me about the town. The businesses. Those that served food in particular. Including my menu and my plans to expand it.

  What had that night been? Was I just a source of information for him? Had he used me just to get information about his future investments in Mudville?

  And what was that kiss? A little side perk of his investigations?

  Get some info. Get laid. Go back to the city and Mina, whoever she was. Was that his plan?

  Suddenly breathless, I braced both hands on the counter.

  Boone abandoned the kettle and stepped closer to me, his hand on my lower back. “You okay?”

  For the first time I didn’t deliver my rote answer and say I was fine. All I could do was shake my head.

  I was most definitely not fine.

  ELEVEN

  Brandon

  I wanted nothing more than to stay. Get a room, even in the questionable looking roadside motel in the next town, and try to see Bethany in the morning.

  But what if she was still sick and didn’t come into the bakery tomorrow either? Then I’d have spent the night for nothing.

  In the end, my debate with myself ended in my leaving early enough I could make it back to the city before sunset.

  Besides, there were things I needed to do at home and for once, it had nothing to do with work.

  I wanted to do some research online to get some insight about Mudville. If I was seriously considering buying another property there—possibly two if I included my interest in the house, God help me—I had to do my due diligence.

  It was nuts even considering buying the old hotel.

  It could pay for itself in overnight guests. Or it might cost me a bunch of money to fix up and then sit empty, thereby proving I should stick to the business I know.

  I had thinking to do. Research too and plenty of it. And it was probably time I got some other minds working on this, not just my own.

  That was my plan—formulated over a three-hour drive that actually didn’t feel that long at all.

  It could take an hour to go three blocks in Manhattan during grid lock, but I’d covered about two-hundred miles and it didn’t even feel like it. I could see myself doing this drive on weekends maybe once a month to check on the properties and get away from the city.

  And there had to be a train that went from the city to upstate. I’d have to look into that too.

  I arrived home just about dinner time, hungry and excited, and wishing I’d gotten an order of wings to take home with me, even though where I lived there were any number of places that would deliver any kind of food I wanted right to my door. Unlike Mudville, with its one bar and single bakery.

  Thoughts of Honey Buns brought to mind thoughts of Bethany and the regret I hadn’t gotten to see her. Maybe I’d get brave and call the bakery tomorrow.

  Maybe not. After a month, that seemed silly. Whereas casually running into her in town seemed like a better way to break the ice.

  But for now, I had to figure out a way to make my single investment, and my possible future investment, make sense.

  I reached into the fridge and grabbed a seltzer, then dialed the one person already privy to my whole Mudville insanity—Patrick Brewer.

  We’d been friends since college. If he hadn’t gone to work for his family’s law firm in Philly, I had no doubt he’d be the third partner in my company with Josh.

  He was as single as I was, so I figured there was a chance he was out on a Saturday night, but it was worth a try. It wasn’t lost on me that, single or not, I hadn’t been out on a Saturday night since my dinner with Bethany.

  Cell in my hand, I kicked back on my sofa and dialed his number.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Let me guess. You came to your senses and need to sell that old diner you bought.”

  I let out a bark of a laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. And no, actually. Now I’m thinking of buying the old hotel next to the diner.”

  “Jesus. Dude.”

  “I know. It sounds nuts. But you saw the price of the diner. The hotel isn’t that much more. And get this, Teddy Roosevelt drank there. There’s a fucking picture of him sitting at the bar, hanging there above the very same bar.”

  “Oh man. I’ll get ready to order another abstract of title.”

  “I didn’t put in an offer yet.”

  “But you will. I know you. You’re a history buff. They had you at Teddy.”

  They really did. I couldn’t help but smile. “I need you to talk me through this. If I were one of your clients—”

  “You are one of my clients. Well, except that normally clients pay me but whatever . . .”

  “Fuck you. I offered to pay. You said no. But anyway, what would you tell them, if it wasn’t me asking?” I asked.

  “I’d tell them they were nuts. That any town that had that many buildings for sale, the average property having been on the market for a year, and a good number of them foreclosures, isn’t going to turn around. I’d tell them that instead of buying up a whole bunch of bargains in a dead town, to buy one property in a thriving town instead.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I decided to debate his opinion. “I read that the time to buy property was before the Starbucks move in, not after.”

  “Pfft. Brandon, seriously. Starbucks isn’t ever opening in Mudville. I can assure you.”

  Maybe that was what I liked about the place.

  I was quiet as I tried to come up with my next argument.

  “But you asked me what I’d tell my other clients. Not what I’d tell you. You, my friend, are a different story,” Patrick continued.

  “Oh, really? How so?” I asked, interested in what would come next.

  “You have disposable income. The purchase price of the diner barely put a dent in your savings. And I know how you feel about history. So even if you bought this old hotel just as a weekend getaway for yourself, it would probably be worth it for you. It’s cheaper than a country club membership. Cheaper than that boat, and the boat club fees, Josh is paying for. And speaking of Josh, he told me he had to force you to take a day off and that you sleep most nights on the sofa in your office.”

  “Fucking Josh,” I mumbled.

  “I’d agree with you except this time he’s right. You need something in your life to focus on besides work, so I say if the inspections come back decent, get the damn thing. Then invite me so I can drink a beer where Teddy sat too.”

  I smiled but tried to control it. “Really? You think it’s not crazy?”

  “Oh, it’s crazy all right. But the good kind of crazy.”

  I blew out a breath, trying to tamp down the excitement. “Okay, so let’s say I do this, I really hate the idea of the buildings sitting vacant. I spent the day in town. They really do need the diner and the restaurant in the hotel to be open. There’s like one place to eat and it’s the local dive bar. Then there’s one coffee shop with baked goods.”

  “So there is an opportunity to turn these properties into money makers then.” I heard the snark in his voice.

  “Yes. I’m not completely insane. But I’d be happy to just break even, honestly.”

  Besides, old buildings needed to be used. It gave them life. Hell, it gave the whole town life. Nothing worse than a ghost town full of zombie buildings.

  “I think there’s a lot of potential there,” I continued. “But my prob
lem is, I’m obviously not going to run them myself. First of all, I have no experience in restaurant management. Second, I already work eighty hours a week in the city.”

  “Yeah. That is a problem. Hey, you know what? I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you approach one of the culinary schools in the area?”

  My mouth dropped open at Patrick’s brilliance. “Oh my God. You’re right. That’s perfect.”

  They’d not only have chefs in training, but they’d likely have people there studying hospitality management as well.

  Hell, I’d be happy to let them keep whatever profits the student run businesses made in exchange for either a monthly rent or even a small percent.

  I didn’t want or even need much. I didn’t have a mortgage on the diner. If the property earned me enough to cover the yearly taxes, insurance and utilities I’d be thrilled.

  The same for the hotel.

  I realized I was starting to think of my purchase of the hotel as a foregone conclusion but now, with an idea in place, I didn’t feel so bad about that. It didn’t feel so crazy.

  Good kind of crazy. Patrick was right.

  “Patrick, I could kiss you.”

  “That I’ll pass on, thanks.” He chuckled. “But I’m serious about that beer. I want to see this bar.”

  “And you will.” Because, dammit, I was going to buy it. There was no doubt in my mind.

  TWELVE

  Brandon

  I was totally at a loss.

  Not because I was sitting next to the mayor of Mudville in front of a room packed full of people attending the special town meeting called on my behalf, but because of Bethany.

  Why was the sweet woman I’d known for one night and hadn’t seen since, shooting visual daggers at me from the back of the room?

  I knew business. I knew business plans. I knew how to turn nothing into something. I’d done it before and I’d do it again. Here. In Mudville with a nineteen-fifties diner that had been closed for nearly a decade.

  But it was obvious I didn’t know women. Not at all.

  Though maybe I needed to stop worrying about Bethany and start being more concerned about the people of this town.

  It seemed they weren’t all that excited about me or my ideas.

  I wasn’t going to let that stop me. Nothing was going to stop me and what I wanted to do with the diner.

  Not the old man with the bowed spine in the front row who didn’t understand my plan so had decided he was against it.

  Not the pinch-faced lady asking the same question in slightly different forms over and over and over again.

  Not the lady who’d proclaimed she enthusiastically supported my plan but was systematically, and passive-aggressively, knocking it down with every negative point she raised.

  Then there were the Morgan brothers in the back, standing like a human wall around Bethany. Like sentries guarding her and this town against the imagined evil army of invaders I’d bring here with me from Manhattan.

  I’d met Boone and Cashel. I could only assume the man with them must be the third brother. The interloper hater. Stone.

  I was having trouble paying much attention to him. I seemed to be completely focused on Boone and Bethany. They were standing awfully closely together.

  And what the fuck could he be saying to her in the middle of the meeting that necessitated him leaning down and pressing his lips so close to her ear?

  I didn’t know but I didn’t like it.

  I felt the adrenaline course through my veins. Luckily for me, it only fueled my resolve.

  The old man raised his hand.

  “Yes, Buck,” the mayor said with just a tinge of exasperation in his tone. I could see being a public official in Mudville had its special challenges.

  The meeting came to a halt as the old man pushed his way up and out of the chair.

  As I waited through the process of him getting on his feet, the extreme whiteness of his sneakers fascinated me. They stood out in stark contrast to his faded jeans and the well-worn brown jacket that looked as if he might have bought it way back when the diner was brand new.

  Finally, he was standing, though rather precariously and so bent over he had to lift his chin to look up at the mayor and me.

  “I don’t much care for the idea of an absentee landlord,” he rasped out. “Thom—God rest his soul—ran that diner himself for twenty-one years.”

  I was up against history and tradition. That I couldn’t change. But I could give them a cold dose of reality. Get them to see what was going to happen if they, as a town, didn’t change with the times.

  I tossed the folders containing my projected costs and incomes onto the table, sending them splaying across the surface until one teetered precariously near the edge.

  “Look, here’s the thing. I haven’t done the math yet, but if you’d like me to I will. The percentage of properties for sale in Mudville is high. Too high. That tells investors that though the prices are low, investing in the town is risky. I not only want to invest in this town, I have a plan that will increase jobs for local workers and increase foot and car traffic to the Main Street area, which will benefit all businesses. I’m ready to take two vacant properties off the market and turn them into tax-paying enterprises.”

  I glanced around the room. Those who were against me remained against me. I could see that. But a few of those who I’d considered on the fence nodded as I spoke.

  That was a good sign.

  I continued, “I’ve outlined exactly how many staff would be required to operate the diner and the hotel, restaurant and bar. Both would be open seven days a week with extended hours on weekends. It’s a considerable number of paying positions.”

  “You said it would be run by the culinary students. Those jobs won’t go to locals.” The woman in the second row croaked out that protest.

  I drew in a breath to clarify for the second time. “No, I said the head chef and sous chef at each establishment would be culinary students, along with the manager. All other positions would be filled with local workers. That includes the wait staff, busboys, housekeeping, dishwashers, handyman, bartenders and whatever else we find we need.”

  “You keep saying we. Are you going to be here on site at all?”

  I glanced to the back of the room and found that question had come from Stone Morgan himself.

  No surprise. I’d been let in on his loathing of outsiders. Of course he wanted to know if I was going to move here or reign over my Mudville empire from my Manhattan high rise.

  “I will be here as much as I can but to be perfectly honest with you, that will probably only be on weekends maybe twice a month. The reality is I need to keep my job in the city. That income is what enabled me to purchase these businesses. It will be the income that allows me to make necessary improvements to the properties. I plan on leaving the daily decisions to the people who actually know what they’re doing. I’ve found things work best that way.” I forced a grin, trying to keep this interaction as friendly as possible.

  I could see how it was going and it was not great. I suspected I could walk on water, straight across the Muddy River in front of the whole town, and some of these people would still be against me.

  Fine. I thrived under adversity.

  If I could get the voting public to support a lingerie-wearing candidate, I could get the people of Mudville to accept me.

  There was another ace in the hole I had. One I was keeping close to the vest. I’d only pull it out if necessary.

  Patrick had pawed through the zoning laws, the building code and pretty much anything else he could get his hands on. There was really nothing stopping me from opening the diner and the hotel and having students run it for me.

  I’d come here as a show of good faith. To garner good will. To let the town know what I was planning and get their buy-in and support. I’d never considered they’d be against me and the plan.

  What the fuck kind of town would rather have two major businesses on Main Street remain v
acant than let an outsider make a change to how things used to be done?

  It was like I’d gone down the rabbit hole to another era.

  What era that would be I wasn’t sure. This country was built on free enterprise. Not on stifling the American spirit.

  But here I was, regretting my decision to request this meeting with every passing scowl.

  That was one reason why Stone’s nod at my answer took me by surprise. So did his continuing to question me.

  “You mentioned improvements to the properties. Could you outline what you’re planning to improve?” Stone’s air quotes around the last word told me his opinion on any sort of change, even for the better.

  “I’m planning on keeping as much the same as is feasible. The historic nature of both buildings is too precious to be altered. That said, there are certain things that need to be done. Modernization of the heating and cooling systems. Handicap accessibility. And actually, I’d like to undo some ‘improvements’ done by past owners and bring the buildings back closer to what they were originally.”

  Ha! He wasn’t the only one who could use air quotes. I thoroughly enjoyed employing them myself, and around the same word he had too.

  But air-quote pissing contest aside, my answer seemed to please him. I got a deeper nod and even a pursing of his lips.

  Had I impressed the great Stone Morgan?

  “Would you consider purchasing some of the produce locally?” he asked.

  Shit. This was where I was going to lose what little ground I’d gained with him. “I wouldn’t be doing the ordering personally. The plan is for the chef and program manager from the school to do that together. However, I think that’s a great idea. I’ll make my wishes known to them that I’d prefer they locally source whatever they can.”

  His head bobbed again and my spirits soared.

  This time it was my turn to pin him down and ask him a question.

  “Would you be open to talking to the people from the college about general logistics, availability, and pricing for sourcing locally?” I asked him. “Kind of like an acting liaison between the businesses and the local farmers?”