Brooke laughed in agreement, but the truth was she had no idea what it felt like to be this successful. She proceeded to add way too much sugar and half-and-half to her cup when it occurred to her that Callie might have some new-business advice she could benefit from. Before she could think twice, the words were tumbling out. “Actually, it’s been kind of rough with the roadwork outside my building. I’m the only store past it, and people don’t seem to realize I’m there or they don’t want to mess with crossing the muddy ditch. I’m really hoping this weekend can get—and keep—me out of the red for a while.” That didn’t sound too pathetic, did it?
Callie cocked her head to the side and put her hands on her hips. “Well, that sucks. They’ve been at that road for a while now. I really should take more of an interest in the city board meetings, but I just really find them all terribly boring.”
“Huh.” Brooke took a quick sip of her coffee. “Maybe I should look into going to one. I just know that it’s killing my business.”
“Well, this weekend should be great, and I’ll be sure to tell everyone about your shop … oh, and hold on.” Callie ran behind the counter, laughing with one of her customers and a super-cute employee Brooke thought looked vaguely familiar from high school. He was very handsome, filling out his pink Callie’s T-shirt very nicely. Maybe he was the secret to the bakery’s success, as his winks and the women’s giggles might suggest.
Callie came back holding a little white bag out for Brooke. “Also on me. We Main Street shop owners have to take care of each other, and you can’t run a business on an empty stomach.”
“Gosh, thank you. I’m famished actually, and this coffee is delicious.” Brooke smiled. She’d been so focused on running her shop and simultaneously failing at it that she hadn’t realized how lonely she was. Most of her friends lived in Kansas City, just far enough away to be inconvenient. She really needed to get out more.
“Oh, yay, I’m glad you like it. We worked really hard with a local roasterie on that particular blend.” Callie beamed.
“Wow, that’s cool. And thanks for being willing to try and send some business my way.”
“Of course, that’s how it works. You can pay me back by telling everyone how delicious my coffee and treats are.” Callie gave her a quick wink and went back behind the counter.
**
Thirteen hours later, Brooke trudged up the stairs to the apartment, her legs aching and her back on fire. But in spite of her list of ailments, she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
“Diva baby,” she sang as she pulled off her T-shirt to get to her evil bra. A haughty meow answered from the living room, and she glanced over to find her cat arching and stretching on the back of the sofa. “We’re celebrating today. You’re getting a whole can of tuna.”
As if she understood—and approved—Diva gracefully leapt from the furniture and sashayed into the kitchen. After treating Diva, and washing down a couple of ibuprofen with a drink of water, Brooke slipped into some flannel pajamas and flopped onto her bed grinning. She’d sold nearly two thousand dollars of product. More than the previous two weeks total. It felt amazing, and Silver Saturday should be even better. She owed Callie, owed her big. Several customers had mentioned that Callie sent them over. Brooke didn’t care how they got there, just that they did, and the feeling of pride and relief welling within her was so immense she burst into tears.
It was the first time since her grand opening that she felt like her dreams might actually be possible. It was the best feeling, and she realized she should share it with her consignment clients who’d continued to have complete faith in her. Picking up her laptop, she drafted up a quick e-mail telling them all what a good day the shop had had and asking them all to drop a few more products by when they got the chance. She hit Send and smiled. Those were the kind of e- mails she hoped to send every week. Before closing her laptop, the e-mail dinged and she grinned as she read her first response.
It was only a matter of time, Brooke! This shop was meant to be and I’ll be by Saturday with a few more cases. :) -Amy
Amy made the most amazing all-natural soy candles, and at least ten of her holiday scents had sold today. Evergreen and Sugar Cookie had been the most popular, no surprise. There was something about crafters and the whole lifestyle that spoke to Brooke. She’d always enjoyed making things as a young girl, and after moving back from Phoenix she’d need something to make her feel good again.
A friend had invited her to a jewelry-making class in Kansas City, and she’d fallen in love with it. She’d told her therapist how much she enjoyed it, and she had encouraged Brooke to keep it up, buy the supplies so she could do it whenever she wished. Brooke did, making piece after piece, giving them as gifts, and even selling some to friends. Everyone genuinely loved her art, even asking her to teach them. The idea to open her own studio had been so exciting, she’d jumped in with both feet and not a lot of knowledge, desperate to write a new chapter in her life.
She was still learning as she went, which she probably wouldn’t recommend, but she loved teaching and she loved retail. It was a lot harder than she had anticipated, but she after today she was finally starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Diva jumped onto the bed with a harsh meow that turned into a loud purr as she stroked her furry cheek along Brooke’s neck.
“We did it, baby.” Brooke smiled through her tears. “I got so many compliments on my jewelry today, and I even booked my next ornament class full. Aren’t you happy for Mommy?” Diva answered with a scratchy lick to Brooke’s jaw. She laughed and stroked her fur until she fell asleep curled up to Brooke’s side.
Today was a good day, good enough to make her forgot about the previous day and that sexy Alex Coleman. She hadn’t thought about him at all, she’d been so busy being successful. Okay, she’d almost barely thought about him.
FOUR
Tuesday morning Alex flipped through the radio stations in his rental car as he drove through Preston. He stopped on a rock station but quickly turned it off when he realized the beat of the drums matched the quick pounding of his heart. The silence was almost worse but would have to do. This morning’s meeting was taking place at his grandmother’s house, which he hadn’t stepped foot in for over fourteen years, not since right before he moved away for good.
He tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. Coming back to Preston had been hard, but he was looking forward to seeing his grandmother. It’d been five years since he’d last seen her. They’d met for lunch in Preston the last time he’d been in town. He was a little ashamed that he hadn’t made more of an effort, but it had been hard to keep in touch with his own busy schedule and the fact that he’d never been welcome to just drop in to the house. At least he had never felt welcome.
He’d called her a few times over the years, and his grandmother had always acted like they’d seen each other just the week before. She never made him feel guilty, or below her. No matter how cold and contentious Alex’s relationship with his grandfather had gotten, Beverly Coleman never treated Alex as anything less than her grandson, and he loved her for that. If there was anyone he’d truly missed while avoiding Preston, it was his grandmother.
Once on the other side of town and out in the country, he turned down Eby Road. The white Victorian house came into view, blanketed in snow and morning light. His hands instantly went clammy on the steering wheel. As a child he’d been in awe of this house. It represented everything he wasn’t and would never be. And yet, he’d always known these people were his family, and when his grandmother had started seeking him out secretly, the wealth and status of the Colemans had been something so close yet so far away.
Today there was a Cadillac at the end of the long drive. Alex parked next to it, grabbed his cell phone, and got out of the car. He rang the doorbell and took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Movement came from deep in the house, and despite the cold in the air and the snow on the ground he felt a sweat
break out on his temple. The old highly polished door creaked open, and his petite grandmother smiled brightly at him.
“Alex, look at you. You’re as handsome as a movie star.” She pulled him into a hug, her petite body so fragile in his arms. She pulled back after a moment and looked up at him, a tiny hand on his bicep. “My goodness, look at all these muscles. What in the world do you use these for? And the beard, my goodness.”
“The beard has gotten a lot of comments.” He ran a hand down his chin. “Not sure why.”
“You look mysterious. I always liked a man in a beard.” As she grinned, some of the tension fled his body. This woman was safety and happiness. He leaned down to let her kiss his cheek, the scent of her favorite perfume filling his nose.
“I missed you, Grandma.”
“I missed you, too, but nobody is forcing us to miss each other you know.” She led him into the house and shut the door. It had been so long since he’d stepped into this house, and he noted how it looked the same as it had twenty years ago. Antique furniture, butter-yellow walls, and gleaming wood trim. Even the scent—Pine-Sol and cinnamon sticks—took him right back to his childhood.
When he was old enough to ride a bike, he would leave school on Tuesdays and race across town straight up to the back door. The cleaning lady didn’t come on Tuesdays, so his grandmother would have him over for cookies or cake, whatever it was she had around the house. As the years went on, she’d slip him cash, birthday cards, Christmas presents. And never once, in all those years did he question it or wish for more, fearful that he would lose that tiny gift of herself that she extended. It was nice to be back.
“I want you to know that I think what Ted has to say is going to make you very happy. I hope so anyway,” she said.
He turned back to her and smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine, Grandma. I don’t need anything from you.”
“Of course you don’t. But I waited a long time for your grandfather to come to his senses.”
Alex had no idea what she could mean, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. Before he had a chance to respond, she turned and led him down a side hall into his grandfather’s library and office. He’d been in this room only once in his life. Right after he graduated high school, John Coleman had asked him in and proceeded to tell him that Coleman men joined the Marines. Any other military branch “was for pussies” and if Alex wanted to prove himself then he would follow suit after his own father, Brett, John himself, and John’s father. Before that conversation Alex had no interest in any armed forces, but the very next day he’d joined the plain-old “pussyish” army and had never spoken to John Coleman again.
Alex told himself that he wasn’t trying to prove himself to anyone every time he earned another bar on his uniform. First Basic, Airborne, RASP, and finally Ranger School. But he knew deep inside that all of it was just him giving good ol’ Grandpa the finger. At some point he’d gotten it all out of his system—he thought—and stopped carrying about what John Coleman thought. But as he stepped into the dead man’s office, he wasn’t so sure what he felt.
The carpet was ivory and lush. Three walls were wood paneled in a deep stained mahogany; the fourth wall, behind his desk, was a full bookcase crowded with family photos, various mementos, and books. Alex forced himself not to scan the frames looking for himself. He would only be disappointed. No, not disappointed—proven right. The man had no feeling for him whatsoever. Never did.
Alex turned to find Ted Orsman standing up from a navy wingback chair. His grandmother spoke quietly from beside him. “Shall I bring in some coffee?”
“Beverly, that would be lovely, thank you.” Ted gave Alex a firm handshake. “Alex, good to see you, m’boy. Time has treated you well. Wish I could say the same for myself.” He patted his gut.
Alex hadn’t seen Ted since high school. His son was a few years older than Alex. Not the case with the man’s daughter though—she’d been a year younger, and they’d ended up hot and heavy one night in the back seat of his car after a football game. Alex assumed he was the only one in the room who knew about that. He hoped so anyway. Ted had to be in his late fifties, his hair thinning and grayed, his stomach a little on the portly side. But overall he looked like his money made up for where Mother Nature had shortchanged him. His suit was designer and his shoes Italian for sure. Alex started to feel a little uneasy.
“Sit down, son. Might as well cut right to the chase.”
Alex hesitantly took a seat in the matching wingback and crossed one leg over the other. The man had him at a disadvantage because while he’d worn slacks and a button-up shirt, he felt like a piece of shit next to this guy sitting in this lavish house. “You had said this should be worth my while and, I’ll be honest, I’m a little unsure of what that could be mean.”
Ted grinned, hiked up his pants, and took a seat. Beverly returned carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee and all the accessories. Alex stood up. “Grandma, you should’ve let me help you.” He took the tray and set it on the coffee table. No one helped themselves to the offering.
When she was settled in a chair, Ted went on. “Well, here is the short version, Alex. John has left you One Hundred Main.”
Alex was silent. His eyes never left Ted, though he didn’t make eye contact. Instead, he homed in on Ted’s ridiculously expensive tie. His pulse picked up in his ears, and suddenly he felt lightheaded.
“I’m sorry, One Hundred Main? To me? Is this a joke, is it to be condemned, does it have multiple mortgages taken out on it?” Alex laughed awkwardly, then swallowed hard. “Are you kidding me?”
John Coleman had loved 100 Main. It was symbolic of this town, of his livelihood, of him. It had housed his business, his campaign headquarters each time he ran for mayor, even the town’s Santa in its front window the week before Christmas. He remembered seeing the line wrap around the building, but he’d never gone himself.
There was no way in hell John Coleman would give his pride and joy to the boy he was so ashamed of.
“I’m definitely not kidding,” Ted said.
“What’s the long version?” Alex asked.
Ted chuckled. “Actually there is no long version. It’s plain as day in his will, and he told me himself, matter of fact.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.” Not too long after he’d become a Ranger, Alex realized. Was that it? He’d finally proven himself to the old man?
“No, no way. I don’t fucking believe this. Shit—I’m sorry, Grandma. Crap—” Alex stood up and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at his grandmother who was silently weeping in her upholstered floral chair.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Alex? I was so happy when Ted told me. I knew John loved you. He just didn’t know how to tell you. He was too proud.”
Alex blew out a breath and walked over to the window. Was his grandmother serious? “Too proud” to be a decent human being?
“Beverly, would you mind giving us a few moments? This has to be overwhelming.” Ted spoke in a low soothing voice, and Alex heard his grandmother leave the room.
“Overwhelming” was an understatement, and Alex felt like telling Ted where he could put his news but clenched his teeth. He didn’t know how to feel, how to even begin to process what he was hearing. What the hell had he expected? He’d tried not to think about what today’s meeting was about. But this, he’d never expected this. Ever. It was so grand an offering, it was almost insulting, knowing how the man had felt about him. There had to be a catch.
“Alex, this is no joke.” Ted was standing beside him now, facing the window leading to the sprawling backyard. “One Hundred Main is completely paid for. In fact, I think you’ll like to hear what I have to say next. Not long after John passed, I was contacted by Evandale Partners Development. It turns out they’ve been trying to entice John to sell the lot for years. Want to put build some fancy medical offices or something of the sort. He resisted, but seeing as you don’t live here and have no emotional attachment to the
property, I recently told them you may be interested.”
Alex didn’t move, but he could feel his jaw tightening. No emotional attachment, huh? He’d only spent his whole childhood driving by his grandfather’s office on his bike wondering if he’d ever be welcome, ever even be noticed. One Hundred Main was a landmark in Preston, everyone had some attachment to it. “Go on.”
“They’re prepared to offer you nine hundred thousand dollars immediately, but I think they’ll go higher because they really want this location. I bet we could get nearly two million if we played it right.”
Alex turned and stared Ted down. “We?”
Ted cocked his head to the side and stepped back. “I have been known to dabble in real estate. I’m licensed—it’s not unusual for an attorney. I’d get you a good offer for three percent.”
“And if I don’t want to sell it?” he asked.
“Alex, come on.” Ted smiled. It was unsettling. “What the hell are you gonna do with a hundred-year-old building? Between you and me, I don’t know why John loved it so much. It’s old, crumbling. It’s probably a money pit. Maybe you were right, he wanted to annoy you. It’s certainly in need of tons of repair. He probably wanted to bog you down with the rigmarole of maintaining an old structure. This will free you of all that.”
Alex took that in but didn’t address the man’s obvious change in tactics. Even though he’d had the same thought himself, it pissed him off to hear someone else voice it. His mind finally settled on his most obvious concern.
“What about Brooke?”
“Ms. Abbott can sell her earrings anywhere,” Ted said with smirk. “You can terminate her lease at any time. You just have to give her thirty days’ notice.”
The thought made Alex a little sick to his stomach. He couldn’t imagine facing Brooke again just to give her that kind of news. But damn, the thought of never again having to spend five months at sea was so tempting he could taste it. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, unable to process what was happening. None of this was what he’d expected.
Blame It on the Mistletoe Page 5
