Sara thought it best not to mention she’d already been inside, so she replied that she’d love to set up a viewing for that afternoon, if possible.
“I think I can do that,” Stephanie replied, somewhat hesitantly.
“Bring your kids, if it’s easier.” Sara took a guess childcare might be an issue. “Not a problem at all.”
“Really?” Stephanie said, relief in her voice. “That may make it easier.”
“No worries. I’m looking forward to seeing it. I can meet you there in an hour…say around two this afternoon?”
“Perfect,” Stephanie said. “I’ll be there.”
Sara arrived early and picked up a few doughnuts from Moxie Java on her way in. When Stephanie arrived in a minivan about five minutes later, she was waiting at the door.
“I love this place,” Stephanie said as she unlocked the door. “I used to eat here all the time when I was in high school.”
The door opened and Stephanie’s three boys burst into the diner, heading straight for the old jukebox in the corner.
Sara stepped in and handed Stephanie the box of six chocolate covered donuts.
“I brought donuts from Moxie just in case a snack was in order for the little guys.”
“Oh, thank God,” Stephanie said, looking at Sara with genuine surprise. “You’re a lifesaver.”
As the boys devoured the goodies, Stephanie walked the diner with Sara, pointing out the features, but also the areas that needed some cosmetic work, which was refreshingly different from the real estate agents Sara had dealt with in the past. Stephanie dug through her bag and brought out a stack of papers, which she handed over.
“The owner had a full inspection and appraisal done about six months ago,” she said, “But you’re welcome to go through the process again if you’re interested in the property.”
Sara recognized the name on the papers.
“No,” she said, “I’ll look them over but the appraiser and I have already worked together on the purchase of my house, so I trust him.”
“Great,” said Stephanie. “Feel free to take those home, and I look forward to hearing from you. What are you planning to do with the space, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m thinking of putting in a gastropub,” said Sara, looking around. “Something with an international beer selection and tapas or small plates. Something a little more upscale.”
Stephanie nodded. “Well, let me know what you think,” she said, “I know the seller is motivated, but she’s stubborn, so we won’t have much room for negotiation.”
“Will do,” Sara said. “And thank you for showing me around. I know you must be busy.”
“I am, but this job is the least of it. I have three kids, well, four counting my husband, and I usually feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water.”
Sara was about to reply when she felt a tug on her sleeve. A sweet blond boy who looked to be about four was looking up at her with an earnest look.
“Miss,” he said, with a pronounced lisp, “Thank you for the sugar.”
Sara laughed and squatted down to give him a high five. He looked very pleased with himself.
“I’m always threatening to limit their sugar,” Stephanie explained, “So you may have a new best friend there.”
Later that afternoon, Sara called the appraiser and chatted with him about the property, and he advised her to make an offer now if she wanted it; Sam told him not long ago she was thinking about taking it off the market.
“It’s a sound building,” he said. “You’ll see in the report there that the only issues were some drywall repair near the bar that you could put off indefinitely if you wanted, it’s only cosmetic, and the back patio needs sealant.” He paused. “It’s a great property, and personally, I think it would do the town good to see it with some life in it again.”
Sara thanked him and called Stephanie back immediately to tell her she wanted to make an offer. She wanted to offer about twenty thousand less than the asking price, approximately the amount she’d need to extend the back patio and put an open roof over it. The only issue she saw with the place being able to turn a profit was the lack of seating, so the extended outside area would almost double the usable square footage. Other than that, the inside needed an update, maybe some fresh paint and a few retro touches, but it was basically ready to go.
****
The next few weeks were tedious, with Stephanie as the go-between in the negotiations. Sam refused to consider the price drop, and Sara wasn’t going to give her the asking price out of principle. The principle being that Draper was an arrogant jerk and Sara refused to give her what she wanted. In the end, Stephanie suggested a compromise in that Sara pay the full listing price but retain all the kitchen supplies, serving ware, and pots and pans. Sara took a long second look at the pieces and agreed. She would have bought more modern plates and cutlery given the choice, but the white porcelain plates and bowls did have a classic look to them, and Sara had started to suspect Sam was tired of the negotiations and might pull out. Sara’s only stipulation was she be given access to the building before closing, which Sam evidently thought was fine; Stephanie reported she’d agreed right away and signed the formal offer. The closing date was set for the following week; Sara was a cash buyer and all the paperwork like title searches and inspections had already been done, so what was normally a long, drawn out process looked like it might be quick and easy.
In the meantime, Sara drove the two hours down the mountain to Boise to spend the weekend looking at colors and decor for the updates she wanted to put in place as soon as possible. She chose the same powder blue as the Formica countertop, with splashes of bright white and black for contrast. She wanted to keep the retro feel of the diner, but her plan was to elevate the cuisine to an upscale gastropub menu. She’d applied for a liquor license, which would take time, but Sara knew from experience that the less people ate, the more they drank. The profit margin on alcohol was twice what it was for food, with fewer staff and no kitchen time required, so she wanted to maximize that angle. She put in orders for the decor and a few updated serving ware pieces she needed to be delivered to McCall, and spoke to a graphic designer about the sign she wanted to put across the front windows. Sara wanted a simple design, so once they settled on the details, he assured her he would send a team to install the sign on Tuesday of the following week. Technically, the closing wasn’t until Thursday but Sam had given her access to the property, so she couldn’t really object.
Sara’s legal first name was Elizabeth, but she’d never liked it and everyone just called her by her middle name, so the fact that it was her buying the property wouldn’t be obvious to Sam just from the paperwork. Just in case, though, she’d asked Stephanie not to give Sam any details she didn’t have to provide before closing. Something told her she might be enough of a jerk to shut the whole deal down if she knew she was selling to the woman she’d clearly decided was a pain in her ass. It still pissed Sara off that Sam had assumed she was an entitled resort tourist right away, as if she wasn’t “cool” enough to actually live in town. If she didn’t have to buy from Sam, she’d be happy never to speak to her again; it was just bad luck that she happened to own the only property in town worth developing into a restaurant.
****
The sign was screened onto the diner’s picture window by late Wednesday; the colors weren’t quite right when they were actually on the surface, so there was a delay because of the change. But when she stopped by the next morning to see at it in the morning light, it was perfect. She took one last look, then hurried to Lakeside Realty. The closing was in ten minutes and she wanted to get it done and over with as soon as possible.
“Good morning!” Stephanie was waiting at the front desk when Sara arrived. “I have us all set up in the conference room.”
Sam showed up about two minutes later, and stopped abruptly in the doorway.
“Sam,” Stephanie said, gesturing toward Sara, “This is Sara
Brighton, the buyer for your property, she—”
“Yeah,” Sam interrupted, taking a seat opposite Sara, “We’ve met.”
“Nice to see you again, Captain Draper.” Sara gave her sweetest smile, and officially started counting the minutes until the meeting was over.
“Well, that explains the cheesy sign that I saw on the way in here on the front of the diner,” Sam said, rubbing her temples as if she had an instant headache. “Alchemy Gastropub? Are you seriously going with that? No one around here even knows what a gastropub is.”
Sara looked at Stephanie, who quickly put her hands up and started for the door.
“I’m not getting involved here, ladies; you two figure it out and we’ll start signing,” she said. “I’m going to see if there are any muffins left in the break room.”
The door shut and Sam held Sara’s eyes, neither one of them speaking.
“Look,” Sam said, breaking the silence, “I’m not trying to be an asshole here.” She ran her hand through her hair and leaned back in her chair. “But this is not the easiest thing for me.”
Sara thought of the picture of Sam and Gus in the restaurant office. “I know.”
“What are you planning to put in there anyway?” Sam asked. “What the hell is a gastropub?”
Sara took a deep breath. “It’s like a mix of a bar and restaurant with imported beers, tapas, and small plates.” Sara paused for a moment while she pictured launching the stack of papers in front of her at Sam’s head. “It’s upscale, but still approachable.”
Sam rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. “Approachable?”
Sara didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow, and eventually Sam just shook her head and pulled the paperwork over in front of them.
“I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Let’s get this over with.”
Sara went to get Stephanie and the papers were signed in record time. Sam stood to leave while Stephanie filed everything away and held out her hand to Sara.
“Take good care of it.”
Just for a second, Sara thought she saw tears in Sam’s eyes. “I will,” she said. “I promise.”
That woman is infuriating, Sam thought, walking out of the realty office and back down to the station. What is she thinking putting a pretentious gastropub with “small plates” and “international beers” in downtown McCall?
Of course, Sam had heard of a gastropub, but just the name alone sounded like a medical procedure; opening one on Main Street was the definition of a bad idea. Sure, she might pull in a few tourists in the summer, but what really kept a business going in this town year round was the locals, and she knew for a fact that the locals didn’t give a damn where the beer was from, they just wanted it fast and cold.
On the bright side, Sam thought, it will be entertaining to watch her crash and burn.
Chapter Five
The renovations on the diner were almost completed within just a few weeks. The painters gave everything a fresh coat of pale blue paint with the glossy black and white trim colors Sara had chosen. She’d installed lights underneath the Formica bar ledge and bought shiny black barstools, and the plates and saucers that had initially looked so plain now fit with the surroundings perfectly. The decor had a slight retro vibe, with the ancient jukebox in the corner and new chrome napkin holders, but Sara hoped overall it would offer a modern, hipster feel. The menu was coming along as well too, although it was hard to make decisions about what made it onto the final draft of the menu when she didn’t have staff yet to taste it and offer opinions. But she had a good working menu ready to the stage of ironing out the kinks, so the end was in sight.
After working since dawn one day a few weeks after the sale was complete, Sara locked up and headed home in the mid-afternoon. The heat hung heavy in the air, and as she rolled the windows down in her truck and pulled out of town toward the cabin, she wished for the hundredth time she could drive her boat. What good was it to have it if she couldn’t drive it? That lake cop told her she had to have a licensed driver in the boat with her at all times before she passed the test, but how exactly was she supposed to do that? Locals all had family or friends to teach them, and of course, the waterfront staff at the camps had on site instructors. What was she supposed to do? Just walk up to random locals and ask them to teach her to drive her own boat?
The sunlight filtered gold patterns through the leaves and onto the roof of the cabin as she drove in. The lake was crystal blue on the other side of the cabin, and a breeze ran its fingers through her hair as she searched for her keys at the door. Then she saw it. The dead mouse just to the left of the door. Its fur was a brownish black and it was curled up in a ball on the wooden planks of the deck. Sara leaned down to see if it was still alive, but it was hard to tell. It was possible it could be alive, or maybe hurt; the only way to find out was to get a closer look. Sara quietly dropped her bag on the other side of the door and reached down to it. As she gently slid it onto her open hand, she noticed it couldn’t be a mouse; it had brown wings that were motionless at its sides, the same color as its fur, and the tiniest little ears.
The bat was tiny, a baby no bigger than Sara’s thumb, but it was already cold and it was too late to save it. Sara covered it gently in her palm with her other hand, and tried to figure out what to do next. She didn’t feel right just throwing its body into the woods, but the only other option was to bury it, and that seemed melodramatic. She stood for a moment, the dead bat ensconced in her hands, thinking. She lifted her hand up to look again, and found that the bat was still motionless, but now was looking back at her. Tiny dark eyes blinked up at Sara, and its little ears wiggled in an odd combination of creepy and adorable. Its body felt warmer now, so it was definitely alive, but this presented a new problem. Where had it come from and what the hell was she going to do with it now?
Just then, Sara remembered that the appraiser had told her as he drove away to be sure to look above her door. She’d been too preoccupied at the time, but now when she slowly raised her head to look over her front door, thirteen small brown bats were staring down at her, hanging underneath the small boards that sheltered the door from the rain.
“Great,” Sara whispered to them. “This totally doesn’t look like the opening scene to a horror movie.”
Eventually, she decided the only thing to do was try to put the baby bat back on the little ledge over the doorframe where the rest of the family was hanging. Sara knew enough about bats to know that they rarely bit humans, but slowly raising her hand directly into a group of them was not the most fun she’d ever had; the last thing she wanted was to scare them and have them all fly suddenly toward her face. She felt it stirring in her hand as she lifted it, and when she got it level with the ledge, the bats on either side unfurled their wings and enveloped the baby, pulling her from Sara’s palm back onto the ledge. Sara stood there for a moment, amazed at what they’d done. If it was possible to feel gratitude from bats, she felt it from the ones she now shared a porch with. Sara watched them for a moment, then found her keys and shut the door quietly as she went into the cabin.
After she’d showered and popped the top off a Heineken, she stood looking out the window at her dock. Specifically at the boat she hadn’t driven in two months. Sam said it was illegal to drive without a boat license, but what was she going to do, put her in lake cop jail? She grabbed her keys off the counter and walked down to the dock. When she reached the slip, Sara pulled the cover off the boat and started the motor, inexplicably pleased at the steady hum, until she remembered she had to back it out of the slip with barely six inches to spare between the sides of her boat and the dock. What possible reason could there be for making these things so small? It was like trying to park a car on the edge of a cliff.
Eventually she cut the engine and just pulled the boat back by hand using the tie rings on the dock. One big push at the end cleared the dock, so Sara turned the key again and edged the throttle forward, picking up speed. What she really wanted to do was
explore the little islands and coves dotted all around the perimeter of the lake. Captain Draper seemed to be the only other lesbian in McCall, so the thought of having a girlfriend to take there for a romantic picnic someday was out of the question, but still, the idea of having islands to explore was exciting.
She cruised past the point of the shoreline and back into the cove that curved around in a half moon shape to almost touch the tiny island just beyond it. Sara cut the engine and let the boat drift towards the inside edge of the cove, wondering how she was going to anchor it if she got out to explore. She searched the control panel for an anchor button, although she had no idea if that even existed; unsurprisingly, there was no such thing. Eventually, she decided to just leave the boat drifting and swim to shore. She made a mental note to store a spare bikini on the boat in the future as she pulled off her shorts and dove into the water.
It was a short swim to shore, and Sara sat on the beach when she got there, stretching her toes into the sand. A few weeks ago, she’d noticed that the sand almost sparkled in direct sunlight. Mary told her the next time she stopped into the drugstore that the sand in McCall had naturally occurring pyrite in it, which explained why it glinted like powdered gold in sunlight. She laid back on the sand, the water lapping around her ankles, and soaked up the warmth. Without sunscreen, Sara knew she had only about fifteen minutes in direct sunlight before she started to burn, so she stood up and looked out on the water to make sure her boat was still there. It was there, but unfortunately, so was a Lake Patrol boat. The patrol boat started to make its way closer to the inside of the cove, and Sara saw it was Sam at the wheel. Of course. Obviously, she’d seen Sara now, so the only thing she could do is sit back down and wait.
Sam shifted the boat into idle as she stopped short of the shoreline. This whole situation was starting to strike Sara as funny, but Sam did not look amused.
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