by K. C. Wells
Heath put down the books in his hand and peered around the corner, smiling at the familiar voice. His smile quickly faded when he caught sight of Dave’s expression. The man looked like he’d been kicked in the gut. Heath hurried over to him. “Are you okay? You look awful.”
Dave frowned. “Didn’t you get a letter too?”
“What letter?” Heath glanced toward the pile of envelopes he’d picked up from the mat that morning. Not that he’d bothered looking at them—one glance told him they were all bills or suchlike. Those could wait until later. Life was too short to start the day with bills.
Dave snorted. “You’ve either not got one yet, or you haven’t read it, because trust me, if you had, you’d know.”
Heath frowned. “Okay. Stop talking in riddles and tell me what’s happened.”
“They’re shutting us down.”
“What? Who is shutting you down?”
Dave took a breath. “You know Daria rents the coffee shop, right? Well, the owners had an offer to buy the place. A really good offer. And it looks like they might go with it.” He sagged into a chair. “I just can’t believe it. I love my job. I get along with my coworkers. I’m dating Daria….” He shook his head sadly. “And suddenly everything is going to shit. Because it’s not just us. It’s two whole fucking streets.”
Heath’s head spun. “What do you mean?” He took a chair across from Dave. “Start from the beginning.”
“Sorry. I’m still trying to process this sorry mess. A few days ago, we got a letter from the Church Developments.”
“And who are they?”
Dave’s eyes gleamed. “Exactly! I’d never heard of them either, so I looked them up. They call themselves a renovation enterprise, but what that boils down to is, they tear down old properties and build brand-spanking-new apartment blocks in their place. You know, the kind that cost an arm and a leg to live in, not that you’d want to, because they’re just this soulless metal-and-glass construction that—”
“Dave,” Heath chided him gently.
Dave sighed. “Sorry. Anyhow, this Church company is buying up properties on Donovan Street and Prater Court, with the aim of refurbishing them.” He air-quoted. “From the sound of it, all the properties, so now might be a good time to check your mail.”
Heath stiffened. “All of them?” That included the coffee shop, the restaurant, and the bookshop, not to mention a tattoo parlor and a couple of adult stores.
Dave nodded. “They touted it as a bold, innovative plan to revitalize Soho. You know, new apartments to address the housing shortage, new businesses, more up-market….”
“Have you talked to anyone else who’s received one of these letters?” Heath couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah. And from the sound of it, there are a lot of people who are upset about this. John and Meredith are inconsolable. She keeps muttering about thirty years of their lives being stripped away and how they’re losing their family’s legacy.”
Heath had heard enough. He strode over to where he’d left the pile of envelopes and leafed through them. He froze when he saw the name Church on the envelope. “Looks like I’ve got one too.” He tore it open, removed the contents, and unfolded them. His heart plummeted. “Shit.”
Dave’s face was a picture of misery. “Aw damn. I don’t know what we’re going to do. I don’t want to give up my life here. I like it.”
Heath could understand that. For the first time, he’d found a place where he was comfortable and happy, with a passion for living that he’d never felt before.
And I am not going to let some company just… take it away from me.
He set his jaw. “We’ll fight this.”
Dave snorted. “Do that, and they really start to play hardball. Except if you don’t read the accompanying letter, you miss that part. Apparently, if you don’t wish to accept their more than generous offer, their next step is to acquire a compulsory purchase order. In other words, they take the building anyway. Whichever way you look at it, they win.” He scowled. “How can they get away with this?”
“Well, we’re going to figure out something. I need to talk to my solicitor about it. There must be something we can do.” Heath got out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He called Adam Deveraux at once, and when he spoke with Adam’s assistant, she told him she could fit him in that afternoon at four. Heath pocketed his phone with a smile. “You wait and see. There’ll be something we can do to stop this. And if it wasn’t for the fact that I need to show him my letter, I’d tear it up to show you what I really think of their chances of doing this.”
Inside, he was reeling, both from the unexpected development and his reaction to it. It wasn’t that long ago that he would’ve sat in a corner, wailing and cursing his fate. That Heath would not have responded so swiftly.
He owed the change in his demeanor and attitude to a certain tall, dark-skinned, gorgeous Dom.
Dave pulled Heath into a hug. “You’re brilliant.” He clung to Heath for a few moments, then released him. “Let me know how it goes?”
“Of course. I’ll be visiting everyone once I’ve seen Adam and we know how to fight this.”
Dave nodded, then left the shop in a hurry.
Getting back to work wasn’t easy after that. His thoughts were no longer on the books, but on the potential change to his life that was coming at him. Impulsively, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Xavier. It was no surprise when the call went straight to voicemail, but Heath was prepared for that.
“Hey. There’s been a development at the shop. Something legal. I’m going to see a solicitor this afternoon, and I’m hoping he can shed some light on where we go from here. Give me a call when you get this?”
He disconnected, confident that if anything could pique Xavier’s curiosity, this was it.
He’ll call. He might even have some ideas how we can proceed.
Heath might not have had a clue how Xavier earned his salary, beyond the “development projects” he’d mentioned briefly—and he got that perhaps Xavier couldn’t say much due to business legalities—but he had every confidence that whatever his job was, he was bloody good at it.
Xavier will be able to help.
Chapter Twenty-One
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS after meeting his solicitor, Heath was still fuming.
He now knew more than he wanted to about compulsory purchase orders. That new knowledge had not improved his situation. It seemed the Church company had everything sewn up, and refusing to accept their offer was not an option. This “refurbishment” was going to go ahead with all the relentless momentum of a steam roller.
Heath had shared the bad news with Dave, Daria, and the others that morning, and it was a gloomy group of people seated around a table at the coffeehouse. All thoughts of taking the offensive had been routed. Adam had advised that if they opposed the purchase orders, they were basically taking on the local government.
Dave had decided to visit all the properties located on the two streets to try to gauge the level of resistance to the plans. He reasoned that surely if those who accepted were in the minority, the company would be forced to rethink.
After talking with Adam, Heath was less convinced. What was more depressing? Xavier had not been in touch. Not a word. And by now Heath was starting to worry. Something had to be very, very wrong.
By five o’clock, when the shop had been without customers for an hour, Heath was sorely tempted to close early. As he walked toward the door to take a look outside at the street, two men in dark suits entered, glancing around the shop’s interior.
“Gentlemen, your timing is excellent. You’ve just caught me.”
One of the men stepped forward. “Mr. Snow? My name is Gordon Trent, and this is Tom Weston. We represent Church Developments.” He gave Heath a polite smile. “I believe you recently received a letter from us?”
“Indeed I did,” Heath said darkly.
“Then I’m sure you recall the company we represent is
purchasing homes and businesses in this area, as it’s been marked by the Greater London Authority for refurbishment,” Tom Weston added smoothly.
Gordon Trent brandished a piece of paper. “Everything is written here, including a very generous offer for your building.”
“I’ve seen it, remember?” Keeping a lid on his anger was proving something of a challenge.
“We’re here to make sure you are happy with the situation.” Mr. Weston was definitely the smoother of the two.
Heath gritted his teeth. “Then you’ve had a wasted journey. I am not happy with the situation, nor will I ever be, no matter how generous the offer.” He gestured toward the door. “If that is all, I’m sure you can see yourselves out.”
Mr. Trent gave an overly dramatic sigh. “You’re not making this easy for yourself. This project will go ahead, Mr. Snow. The compulsory purchase orders will see to that. Your best option is to take the offer.”
Heath took a calming breath. It didn’t help, because his anger continued to bubble beneath the surface. “For the second time, please leave my shop.” The words sounded inadequate, but he didn’t trust himself to say more.
Mr. Trent and Mr. Weston regarded him in silence for a moment. Finally, Mr. Trent folded his letter and replaced it in his jacket pocket. “Sticking your head in the sand will not prevent this from happening, Mr. Snow. It’s a much better idea to move with change, especially a change for the better. A door closes here. So what? That just means another opens somewhere else. Maybe a better location, with opportunities for increased prosperity. You’ve made a good start here, but you could make an even better start someplace new.” He gestured to Mr. Weston, and they exited the bookshop.
Heath stood in the middle of the shop floor, gazing at his surroundings. Already his palms were slick with sweat at the thought of all the things he was going to lose—his shop, his home, his friends. He’d put his heart, soul, and some literal blood into this place, and he had no desire to give it up.
So what if the pipes are old, the boiler has seen better days, and there’s a draft coming through two of the upstairs windows that I can never seem to plug? It’s my fucking building.
Tears of frustration and impotence pricked at Heath’s eyes. He flipped the sign to Closed, unable to even consider the idea of more customers. He couldn’t talk to people now. What he needed right then was time to himself, to think, to consider options.
Except he had the sinking feeling that he’d run out of them.
Heath made his way up the stairs in a daze. In the space of just over twenty-four hours, his whole world had tilted on its axis. He could—would—lose it all. Everything he’d striven to build was going to be taken away. No wonder he felt off-balance.
“‘A better location,’ he says. With ‘increased prosperity,’ he says.” Heath shook his head. None of that mattered. He didn’t want to start over somewhere else. He didn’t want another building. He loved the one he was in. So what if it had “issues,” like the warped floorboards in places, the shelves that didn’t sit flush against the out-of-true walls, and that damned tapping when the pipes groaned in protest as the weather got colder….
This was his home, for God’s sake. He didn’t want to live anywhere else. And what about his customers? The ones he’d spent the last two years coaxing to come in and check him out? Would they bother to make a trip to visit him if he had to go somewhere far away? Because it sure didn’t look like the Church company planned on having a bookshop in their new-and-improved area.
And there wasn’t just him to consider. What would happen to Meredith and John? Their family had run the restaurant for nearly fifty years, with John and Mer taking care of the customers for the last thirty. And what about Daria and Dave? They’d just found each other, and now they’d have to go elsewhere for jobs. Gentrification meant skyrocketing rents. They were barely scraping by as it was.
Heath’s hands trembled as he pulled out his phone. He needed someone he could talk to. Someone who would understand.
God, right now he needed Xavier. And this time he’d better fucking answer.
THE ENTIRE drive to the shop, Xavier’s mind was so preoccupied, it was a wonder he didn’t crash. His emotions were all over the place, and that really wasn’t like him. Guilt wracked him for not having been in touch the last week, but how the hell could he? It wasn’t as if stepping down from the project was an option. All Church would do would be to assign it to someone else. Someone who didn’t give a flying fuck about Heath or his neighbors.
The way he looked at it, Heath was going to be devastated, both by his shop’s impending fate and Xavier’s betrayal. Because it felt like a fucking betrayal, and he couldn’t put off this moment any longer.
When he arrived at the shop, Heath let him in wordlessly, and Xavier followed him through the semidarkened shop to the stairs. No matter how many times he went at this, from how many different angles, the words wouldn’t come. He still had no idea what would happen when he finally opened his mouth to tell the truth.
“I’ll make some tea,” Heath said quietly, then went to fill the kettle.
Xavier sat in the armchair, watching him. All the elation he’d felt when Church had handed him this goddamn project had long since vanished. He didn’t care that this was his big chance to break out of the pack and prove his mettle.
None of that mattered when the man he loved was hurting. And it was Xavier’s fault.
Okay, strictly speaking, it was Church’s fault, him and that damned development company, but surely there had to be a way to stop them and save Heath’s shop. And their relationship.
Heath poured them each a mug of tea, then handed one to Xavier, who set it aside. Heath took a seat on the couch and wrapped his mug with both hands. He stared into it in silence, as though debating what to say first. Finally, he sighed.
“I’m such a mess. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I don’t know whether I should cry or punch something. And I hate feeling like this.”
Xavier kept his voice low and neutral. “It was obvious from your voicemail that you were hurting. And I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. Just working too hard.”
Heath waved a hand. “You’re here now. That’s what counts.” He gave a weak smile. “And I’m really glad you came.”
Xavier winced internally at the sizzle from that first piece of burning coal dropping onto his head. “What are you going to do?”
Heath slumped into the couch. “I don’t know. I showed their letter to my solicitor and he’s looking into it, but he’s not hopeful. It seems this company has been buying up a lot of properties lately, including some of the ones we talked about.”
In spite of his feelings about Heath’s predicament, Xavier could see the benefit of all those new buildings, how they restored an area and brought it new life. It appeared Heath couldn’t see that, but that was hardly surprising, given his present state of mind.
“Progress isn’t always bad, you know,” Xavier suggested. “Surely it’s good to clear out the old to make way for the new.”
Heath gazed at him as if he’d spoken in a foreign language.
Xavier pressed ahead, hopeful that he could appeal to Heath’s logical side. “This might be a blessing in disguise, have you considered that? You could take their money and find another building that would be even better for you. Somewhere with more traffic. Plus, you wouldn’t have to live above your shop.”
Heath widened his eyes. “What? Why would I want to do that? I put my life into this place. I don’t want another building. I like being where I am. And even if I didn’t, what about Dave and Daria, or John and Mer? They’d all have to find someplace else.” He shook his head. “It’s not like I could afford to stay here once they put up those new apartments. No one here can afford those prices. I do all right, but if I had to rent a place, I would go under in six months. I looked online and found the average—average—rent is almost three times what I pay now for a mortgage on a building I own! I scrape by okay, but wha
t about lean months?”
“But—”
“But? But what?” Heath gestured to his flat. “This is my home, don’t you get that? Would you just give up your place?”
“They’re offering a fair price, aren’t they?”
“Fair?” Heath got up and moved to the window. “Let’s think about that. How do you put a price on your life’s work? What’s a fair price for thirty years of your life spent running a restaurant? They’re looking at the building, not the people. John and Mer’s family opened the restaurant when my parents were born. John and Mer have run it since around the time I was born. They have a lifetime of memories in that building.”
“But those don’t go away just because you’re not in the same place. They’ll still have those memories.” The pain in Heath’s voice tore at Xavier, and he knew there was nothing he could do or say that would ease it.
“Remember when we ate there? Remember all those photos on the wall, the pictures of people they’ve served? Think of the history that was in that building, and it’s going to be torn down so an overpriced box can be put there. You only have to take a look outside to see what’s happening. London’s heart is being ripped out and replaced with buildings with no heart, no soul, no charm. They’re just quick, throw-together prefabricated messes. Oh, they claim it’ll revitalize the area, but what it’s really doing is homogenizing it. Soho will be just another area that lost the personality and charm that have always made it special.”
Xavier’s gut roiled. He understood Heath’s anger, but there was nothing that could be done about it. The deal was done and dusted, and this anger was only making things worse.
“What if—”
Heath’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I am! It’s just…. Look, maybe I’m just trying to see this in a positive light. Don’t look at it as a door closing. This could be a new opportunity, where you could do even better than you have done here. Yes, you’ve started something really good here, but who’s to say it couldn’t be even better some place new?” Xavier couldn’t think of what else to say.
