by Kathryn Shay
Most greeted her. She surveyed the eight guests in front of her, and the eight at the next table. “Anyone have special needs?”
“I need a car.” A guy smiled at his joke.
Millie laughed and the group did, too. She knew it might be the only time some of them laughed today.
She served the food, and one woman scowled at the plate. “What is it?”
“Ground beef.”
“I’m vegetarian.”
“I’ll get you a vegetables and potatoes when I deliver these to the others.”
“I want it now.”
She glanced around, caught Emerson’s gaze and motioned for him to come over. “What do you need?”
“A vegetarian dinner.”
He left to get it and she told the guest her meal was on the way. At her next table, a family with six kids took up eight seats. Two needed high chairs. The mother and father were attentive to them, and the children were well behaved. One little boy tugged on her arm. “Anymore juice?”
“You know, I think there is. I’ll get it as soon as I serve your family.”
His cuteness balanced out the vegetarian.
Like always, when she finished two hours later, she was in a much better mood and told herself to get a grip. It didn’t matter what Finn was doing with his life. It mattered what she did in hers.
* * *
When Finn arrived at the store on Tuesday, Millie came out from the back and walked toward him. Her color was pale and her expression bleak.
His heartbeat sped up as he met her at the entryway. “What’s wrong?”
She held up an envelope. One of her managing duties was to answer official snail mail and email, and send him a summary of what the store received. “This.” She handed the missive to him. “It’s too important to wait till the end of the day.”
He took a registered letter, pulled the single sheet of paper out and opened it. Read. Now his heart turned arrhythmic. His gaze snapped to her. “A conglomerate is planning to buy our building and not renew Fitzgerald’s lease? Why?”
“I called the other tenants.” The twenty occupants of the four-stories above them had formed a community of sorts, and met every month to discuss any concerns. “They got letters like this one.”
“Hell. I wonder what they’re planning for the building.”
“I did some research on Markham Management. They’re mostly condo developers.”
Finn stilled. “This is horrific.”
She sighed and clasped her hands together. Periodically he realized the kind of investment Millie had in his store and this was one of them. So, he moved closer. Lifted her hands and held them in his. “I won’t let them put Fitzgerald’s out of business. There’s got to be a way to stop this. If we can’t, we’ll open elsewhere.”
“This is an historic section of New York. If we don’t prevent a development like this, condos will ruin the whole area. And a lot of people’s lives.”
“Mil, we’re not even sure this area is zoned for condos.”
“They must know it is or why would they send the letters?”
The front door opened before Finn could answer. Keeping his own panic at bay, he turned to see Dylan O’Neil had entered. Finn struggled for poise. “Hello, Dylan.”
“Finn.” They shook hands. To Millie, he said, “Hello, Ms. Morrison.”
“Mr. O’Neil. We keep running out of your books. I can’t wait to read the next one.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to schedule another signing here.”
Dylan O’Neil was famous in his own right, as the bestselling author of political thrillers, which Finn devoured. Millie liked them, but she preferred his more personal books. That Dylan was the brother of a past first lady, brother-in-law to a past president completed his mystique.
“What can we do for you, Dylan?”
He nodded to the envelope. “It concerns that.”
“Then we don’t have to keep up a front.” Finn frowned. “But Bailey’s can’t possibly be in trouble. It’s practically a landmark.”
“No, no trouble for us. Thanks to the brother I never knew I had, all six of us own 100% of the pub and the property. But we got a letter asking if we’d sell to them.”
A group of four came through the door, laughing and talking. There were five other patrons in the stacks. Finn said, “Come on back, where we can talk privately.”
They took chairs in the break room. Dylan began. “I visited the occupants of the establishments within a block of us. The whole neighborhood fears that if Markham Management is successful in turning your building into condos, the entire area could become another casualty of gentrification.”
“I agree,” Finn responded. “Even if they didn’t buy up more buildings, having high-end condos here would change the whole character of MacDougal Street.”
Millie had listened carefully, with her arms folded over her waist. “Any ideas of what to do about it?”
“Yep, we’ve invited the neighbors to a meeting tomorrow night in our pub’s back room. Seven o’clock. We have some lawyers in the area, some important people, like you, to help fight for the little guy.”
She looked at Finn. “Can I come, too?”
“Dylan?”
Dylan said, “You’re the store’s manager here so I’d say yes.”
They talked strategies and then Dylan stood. “I’ll see you then.” Turning, the famous Dylan O’Neil walked out.
One glance at Millie told him she was very upset. Her pretty eyes were full of fear. He moved his chair closer to hers. Grasped her shoulders. This close, he could smell her flowery scent. “That should make you feel better. The O’Neils are the most powerful people in the neighborhood, maybe even the whole of New York.”
“I guess.”
“Try not to worry.”
“I will.”
“I think we should keep this quiet. Judy couldn’t hear our discussion out there. Let’s go on as normal until after we meet with the O’Neils.”
But Finn couldn’t follow his own advice. The stark reality that he could lose Fitzgerald’s would plague him all day.
* * *
Finn had paced the floor most of the night, worrying about his business. He’d thought long and hard about what moving might do to his beloved store, and the notion made him more concerned. That morning, he went into work and performed his duties. But as the time got closer to go to the meeting, he stressed out even more.
He told his driver, Jonah, to pick him up at ten and walked over to Bailey’s Irish Pub. Inside, he went to the entrance to the back room. They’d added square footage to the place by enlarging the kitchen and adding a big room for private parties. Now, it was filled with a myriad of people. Finn scoured the crowd for Millie. She’d had the day off and texted that she’d meet him here. He threaded his way over and found her at a table in an animated discussion with a dark-haired woman.
“I know,” the woman said. “I like Dylan’s more personal books the best, too.”
“Why hasn’t he ever written one about—” Millie stopped when she saw Finn. “Oh, hi, Finn.”
Her companion turned.
Despite the grim circumstances, he smiled. “Hello, Ms. O’Neil.” The famed Street Angel who got girls out of gangs, snagged the attention, love and deep devotion of a Senator and went with him to the White House. “How are you, Bailey?”
“We’re all doing well.” She motioned to the crowd. “Concerned about this. I imagine it’s more of a worry for you two.”
“Yes, it is. Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.”
He noticed Millie didn’t respond. Tonight, she wore a plain red sweater with a little gold chain peeking out.
He took a chair and they heard, “Can I have your attention, please.” Up front, Dylan spoke directly into the mic and kept eye contact with his audience.
People quieted. This was a serious night. “I’m glad you’re all here. Let’s get right to it. I’d like a show of hands. Has
anyone else received an outright real estate offer other than Fitzgerald’s and Bailey’s?”
No hands.
“How about a rental announcement? I know about the four floors above the bookstore.”
A few people scattered around the block had gotten notices that their leases would not be renewed.
A man stood. “The damn condos will ruin the whole character of MacDougal Street. And if condos succeed, more will get in by hook or by crook.”
“Thanks, Joe. For those of you who don’t know, Joe Jenkins owns The Broken Egg four doors down and rents the property.”
Finn had met him when he stopped in there for breakfast. He was a nice guy and his food was terrific.
“First, let’s talk about our options. One is to allow this to go through without protest.”
“No way in hell,” and other such exclamations reverberated around the room.
Joe added, “They’ll be putting in fancy restaurants and brunch places that’ll ruin several businesses on the street.”
“Is Finn Casella here?” another person asked.
“Yes, Marsha, he is.”
Finn stood and gave a casual wave. “Hi, everyone.”
“Finn, want to start us off with your impressions?” Dylan asked.
He strode to the front area. “I know many of you from patronizing your establishments. So, you probably won’t be surprised that this is a nightmare for my store, but beyond that, I’m in agreement that nobody wants condos here. It will completely change our street and the whole area.”
Dylan took the mic back but said, “Stay up here a minute, Finn.” To the others, “I’m opening this to discussion. Since there’s over twenty-five people here, could you raise your hands and I’ll ask for input. Liam, another brother, is over there and will be taking notes.”
Finn especially liked Liam, the friendly, unassuming one of the group. He waved from where he sat in front of a laptop.
Contributions were heartfelt…
“I own the hair and nail salons down the street. I rent the storefront. I’m afraid they’ll put one of those fancy spas in the condos.”
“I own Geppetto’s. A gourmet Italian eatery could kill me. I work in concert with the other restaurants and our menus complement each other. Their vendors wouldn’t do that.”
They heard from dry cleaners, three boutique grocery store owners, a Jewish deli, two candy stores, ice cream shops and more.
“I have a suggestion.” The woman who owned The Jewel, a specialty jewelry store near Bailey’s, stood when the participation ended. “I think we need a smaller group to take our brainstorming and find some feasible way to prevent Markham Management from buying up the property.”
“Good idea.” Finn spoke again. “I suggest the O’Neils meet with me right away. We’ll make a plan and split up the responsibilities among this group. And by the way, I already called the current owner of the building to see where he is in the sale process, but his voice message said he was out of town for a few days.”
Everyone agreed to the subcommittee and the meeting broke up. Dylan and Finn went back to the table where Millie and Bailey still sat.
Another O’Neil had approached them. “I’m Kinley. Pleased to meet you, Finn and…”
She said softly, “Millie”
“Hello, Millie. Does anyone mind if I join in?”
“And me?”
“And me?”
Liam and Patrick O’Neil had also come over.
Millie stood. “Somebody can have my seat. Your discussion is above my paygrade. I’ll participate when we have the renters’ meeting.”
“You’re welcome to stay,” Finn told her.
“I don’t feel comfortable. Thanks, though.” She left without speaking to him.
“I like her, Finn,” Bailey said.
He stared after her. “Yeah, me too.”
* * *
Millie walked fast to get home but it seemed to take an eternity. She wasn’t usually out alone at night, especially when it was cold out, but she needed to clear her head. Her emotions were out of control. Swirling around in her mind were the sale of the building and her life’s work going down the drain. Almost as bad, her thoughts were preoccupied with Finn again. She knew why.
He’d touched her so much the night on the boat—he’d run his hands up and down her arms, grasped her hands and even fucking braided her hair. He acted like he had the right to do all that, too. And then he was stupid at the bookstore, acting like he was jealous of Emerson. She knew him well and could read his moods.
She’d managed to keep her feelings at bay on her day off by immersing herself in the other things in her life: the soup kitchen, making lunch for Grandma and Grandpa and playing scrabble with them through the afternoon, and two long runs with Scout. But tonight, Finn looked so handsome in jeans that gloved his butt and a long-sleeved polo shirt that accented the green of his eyes. His hair had gotten longer, too, and he’d given it annoyed pushbacks. Unfortunately, she still thought every single thing about him was beautiful.
Tears clouded her eyes. Dear Lord, how did she get back here? Eighteen months ago, she went for therapy sessions to discuss how to cope with her emotions. Was she going to have to quit the store altogether like one counselor suggested? Did it even matter if there was no store in the picture?
A car pulled up beside her, stopping the tears and nearly her heart. She picked up her pace. The vehicle caught up and she heard a window buzz down. “Millie, let me give you a ride.”
She turned to the sound of Finn’s voice. Oh, no, she couldn’t. Not tonight when she was an emotional mess. “I’m fine, Finn. Go back to your meeting.”
“It’s over. We set some dates. Get in.”
“No.”
“Goddamn, Millie. Get in!”
When she didn’t stop, he whipped open the door and jogged up to her.
Instead of cowering, she lifted her chin. “I make my own decisions, Finn. You should know by now I won’t be bullied.”
“No? Are you going to face down a guy with a knife? A group of guys who see you as their next prize?”
“MacDougal Street is safe.”
“Nowhere is safe when you’re walking alone at this time of night, especially a woman.”
She stayed silent, staring him down. He was right. She wasn’t safe. “But what you say makes sense. I accept the ride.”
He sighed in relief and walked the few feet to the car with her. She climbed into the sporty coupe first and scooted over to the far side.
“We’re ready, Jonah.”
The driver was a sweet guy. “Address?”
“11 St. Patrick’s Street.”
“Ah, not too far.”
She grumbled, “See, I told you.”
Finn only shook his head.
There was no parking available on the street at this time of night, and grandma and grandpa didn’t have a driveway. Jonah swerved over and double parked.
Finn asked, “You have your own apartment on the top floor, right?”
“Yes.”
“Jonah, would you take the car home and leave it in my garage? I need to meet with Millie and I don’t know how long it will take. I’ll grab an Uber later.”
“Thanks, Finn. Have a good rest of the night.”
She slid out of the seat behind him, and as soon as Jonah drove off, she turned on him. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of your driver, but you’re not coming into my house.”
“I most certainly am. We need to talk.”
“No.”
“Do your grandparents have Scout?”
“Yes. They’re keeping him overnight. I didn’t know when I’d be back so he’s staying there.”
“Where’s your entrance?”
She stayed put. “Finn, I said no.”
“No always means no when a woman says it about physical contact. But we have to talk and I’m not leaving.”
When she still balked, he said, “Aren’t you as much of an emoti
onal wreck as I am about the store?”
“More than you know.” She frowned. “Is that what this is about? You want to talk about the store?”
“Yes. No. Let me come inside. Please.”
Tears threatened but she battled them back. And gave in. She walked ahead of him to her private entrance, climbed the steep set of stairs, fished her keys out of her pocket.
And promptly dropped them.
Finn picked them up before she could, inserted the single key in the lock, turned it, then did the same with the dead bolt. She went in first, and stepped aside for him, shut the door behind him.
Still standing in the kitchen, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can we sit?”
“No. What do you want to discuss about the store?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you ask to come up?”
“Because I want to know what’s going on with you.”
She walked further into the kitchen, to the table to put some distance between them. “Leave me alone, please.”
He followed her. “No way. Why have you been acting so strangely the last few weeks? Isn’t Emerson treating you right?”
Instead of answering, she made a decision on the spot.
“I’m handing in my resignation from Fitzgerald’s tomorrow.”
His dark blond brows rose. “What?”
“I’m quitting.”
“The hell you are.” He moved closer and she stepped back as if a flame shot up in front of her. He eased away immediately.
“Millie, please, talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Damn it, Finn, how could somebody so smart be so dumb?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re an idiot. You can’t even figure this out?”
“Figure what out?”
She lost the battle, but damn it, she wouldn’t cry. “That I have feelings for you! I’ve had them since Fitzgerald’s opened.”
“I’m not stupid. I know you had a crush on me in your teens. But you obviously got over it. You’ve had plenty of boyfriends.”
