"Maybe I should give it a shot."
"I think you should." She says, finally removing her hand from my arm. "I would totally give you a loan," she adds.
"Stop joking. You know I’m a risky loan.”
She twirls her hair. “You might be a risk. But you’d be a fun risk. Everybody at the bar loves you. If you started your own place it could be the biggest home run this town has ever seen. You never know until you try it.”
“You think so?"
"I know so," she says.
We chat for another half hour until the first customer comes in for the day.
"Well, the fun's over," I say. "I guess we better get to work.”
That night as I go about my shift, something changes in me.
I have difficulty concentrating as I'm making drinks at the bar with Clarissa within my eyesight. Watching her walk from the post stand to tables is a sight that's distracting for any man, myself included.
I close up the bar that night, her words linger in my ear.
She’s right.
Why don't I just try to start my own place?
6
Mason
The Secret to Getting a Loan in a Small Town
The next day, I wake up nice and early.
A little after 10 a.m.
You’re shocked. I get it.
But look, I’m a man of action, and once I’ve set my sights on something, I’m what some might call ‘obsessive.’
I prefer to think of it as passionate. And that means waking up at the crack of ten to take care of business.
I call all four banks in Blackwell, use my best professional phone voice, and make appointments at all four places.
I put on my nicest T-shirt and jeans and head into the first interview.
"So that's why I think you should give me a business loan." I kick back in my chair, satisfied after reaching the end of my pitch. The gentleman sitting across from me squints and looks fascinated.
"Do you have a business plan?" he asks, scratching his forehead.
"No.”
He frowns and scribbles furiously, and I wonder if no was the wrong answer.
“I mean,” I backtrack. “I've run a bar for six years so I definitely know all the ins and outs of the business side."
The man scoffs. "If you don't have a business plan, I'm sorry sir. There's nothing we can do. Good luck though!"
He sticks out a hand for me to shake. Slightly dejected, I shake it and leave the room.
My next meeting with Blackwell Credit Union goes similarly, and now I’m down to two banks that might be giving me a loan. Apparently getting money is just as hard as I thought it would be. The hopefulness that had filled me during my conversation with Clarissa yesterday starts to dissipate.
On my way out of the second bank, I text Clarissa to see what she's up to. She’s got a shift later at the old folks home, but can meet up for coffee before her shift.
So we decide to meet up, right after I get turned down from the third bank in Blackwell.
We meet at the local coffee shop Daily Grind, grab our drinks and sit down.
She rolls her eyes playfully when I tell her how I pitched the first three bankers.
"Let's get this straight," she says, holding up her hand. "After our little conversation yesterday, you already scheduled meetings with all of the banks in town.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
She laughs. “I admire that you’re a man of action. But you don't have a business plan yet. All you have is an idea.”
"That’s true,” I nod.
"I think you need to do some thorough planning. These banker types want to see the numbers."
I sigh.
"You were always so bad at improvising," I counter. “It’s all about confidence and going with your gut!”
She cracks up, shaking her head. I take a sip of my coffee. I love watching that innocent but genuine smile of hers.
Is it my coffee buzz, or is it Clarissa’s presence that’s driving me wild?
Something definitely has me in an elevated state.
I sniff the air, smelling something curious that I can’t put my finger on. And it’s not just the delicious coffee.
"Okay you may be right, but you were always so bad at planning." She retorts. "Although I do respect how much a man of action you are. I mean I told you that idea just yesterday and you're out here looking for loans today. That's like, a million times better than video game guy," she wiggles her eyebrows.
"What can I say," I shrug. "I don’t have time for games. Once I’ve decided I want something, I go balls out."
She taps her nose thoughtfully, then pushes her glasses up. “Balls out, huh?”
I nod.
“Have you ever thought about the details? Where this bar would be? The theme? Interior design? Will you be using earth tones or primary colors for the windowsills? I’m assuming you’ve got drinks covered."
I nod as I sip my coffee, and set my cup down. "You just fired off a ton of questions at me.”
“This is a big project.”
“Sure. To answer your first, there's a property over on Fulton and Spring that I think would be perfect. And as for the drinks, I’ve got those totally covered. I’ve even got a few secret ones I’ve been waiting to make."
“And the theme? The interior design?” she insists.
"Hmm, good questions. Well, I have some ideas, but I don't know if I have time to get into them.” I glance at my phone. “I have my next meeting in half an hour. I can't cancel, that shows flakiness. Right?”
Her jaw drops. "Your next meeting is in a half hour?"
"Yes."
She shakes her head. "Who is it with?"
"Mrs. Crabtree over at The National Bank of Blackwell."
She takes a deep breath. "I'm coming with you."
“You don’t have to do that.”
She cocks her head and arches an eyebrow. "Mrs. Crabtree is a family friend. I'm coming with you. Nothing you say will change my mind. I owe you--I want to help,” she says.
"I could definitely use some backup,” I admit.
"I mean, it’s not like you haven't backed me up before," she says.
"Hey that Eric guy was a douche,” I say with a smile, smashing my fist into my hand. It always feels good to bring up the old joke about the first guy I ever beat up for her. Beating that middle school bully seems like it was a lifetime away now, but I recall that moment clear as day.
Since it just so happens to be the time I met Clarissa.
“I can’t believe you remember him!” She throws her head back in laughter, then finally comes back to earth. "I still feel bad that you got detention for defending me though."
"That was small potatoes. Later that year I got suspended for stealing from the café to give some food to my buddy who forgot his lunch. Apparently, that’s not allowed even if you’re super hungry.”
"Really? Look at you, the local Robin Hood.” She smiles at me and a glimmer of hope bubbles up in my chest that the crush I have on her might be reciprocated. However, I quickly squash that feeling.
A smile eases over her face. “Well, that was a sweet thing you did. I still think about it sometimes.” Reaching forward, she places her hand on top of mine ever so lightly.
My heart starts to hammer like I’m back at a high school dance and I’m about to have my first kiss.
We make eye contact. Her pupils are giant. Her expression is soft. And I wonder if she has the same memory of that day at recess that I do.
I summon all of my self-control. I need to. I’ve sworn numerous times this past summer to her brother that I don’t like Clarissa like that.
But the feelings bubbling up in my stomach at this moment, I would definitely not classify as ‘nothing.’
I don’t think about how sultry and perfectly kissable her lips look as she leans in and sips her coffee.
I don’t wonder what she’s thinking about as she twirls her hair, looks out the window and stare
s.
And I definitely don’t sneak a look at her magnificent small perky tits as she stretches her arms and puffs her chest out when she pulls her hand away, her smile gently fading.
I swallow the last of my coffee.
“Nice day outside,” I say, changing the subject. I follow her line of vision as she gazes outside, and I wonder just what is going through that head of hers.
“Yeah,” she says, then pulls out a tiny bottle of oil. “Beautiful fall day.”
“What’s that?” I ask as she puts the clear liquid on her wrists, and a little on her neck.
I sniff the air, and the oil gives off a subtle, fresh scent.
“Oh, this? It’s jasmine essential oil.”
Aha. Finally the smell I’d been sensing makes sense.
“What are essential oils?” I squint, trying to read the label on the tiny bottle.
She furrows her brow like I just asked her what an iPhone is.
“You’ve never heard of essential oils. Are you serious?”
I shake my head. “Is it like perfume?”
“Not exactly. They are natural oils extracted from plants. There are a ton of different types. Jasmine has a lot of health benefits.”
“Such as?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Such as, it relieves depression and awakens romantic feelings.” She runs her tongue along her lips.
“Relieves depression?” I ask, purposely ignoring the second part of her sentence. “Is that on purpose? Have you been feeling down lately?”
“I was a little sad for a little while when I got back from school. It’s a tough transition, coming back to a such a small home from Boston. Honestly, I’ve been up and down. This summer was a little rocky. But I’m feeling better this week.”
“And you credit the jasmine with your better mood.”
“Well, somewhat. There have been other things, too. Other...” She trails off, but before I can ask about the secondary reason she’s been feeling better, she cuts in. “Want to smell it? Here.”
She lifts her hair and points me to a target on her neck.
I swallow, and my heart throbs.
Other parts of my body also try to throb, including one such body part below the belt.
I do my best to ignore all the throbbing as I leaning toward her, I inhale. It’s a subtle but delicious scent.
“It smells...like calm.”
“Yes! Wow. Good instinct. It’s peaceful. Jasmine is the ancient aroma of calm. The cool beauty of the night. The jasmine flower only opens after dark, when the sun sets and the temperature drops.”
I take hold of her wrist and sniff it as well. “Damn, Harvard. You’re poetic. If it only opens after dark, does the jasmine keep secrets, too?” I arch an eyebrow again.
“It just might.”
Our eyes lock for a few seconds, and I drink her in. She’s intoxicating. I don’t know if it’s her gorgeous little nose and glasses, her kind eyes, or that damn jasmine that’s putting me over this edge.
I think I’m delirious. I’m not even quite sure what we’re talking about at this point. Secret Blackwell gossip? How the Jasmine flower only opens after dark?
I need to get out of here stat before I get myself into trouble.
Cole’s words ring in my ears.
“We should go,” I say, glancing at my phone again. “We’ll be late.”
“Yes. Good idea.”
We walk down the street to the National Bank of Blackwell. It's one of the banks with local ties. Our loan officer, Mrs. Crabtree, is a senior member who has a lot of sway with the board. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has the final say on whether or not I get the loan.
We wait in the lobby, and Clarissa takes a deep breath when Mrs. Crabtree's assistant calls my name.
“Nervous?” I ask, putting my hand on the small of her back.
Clarissa shakes her head. “No. I’m just so happy to be with you again. It feels right, doesn’t it? You and me, going on adventures again. Together.” She smiles up at me, and the word together rings through me.
I nod. “It does feel right.”
Just then, Mrs. Crabtree greets us, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
“Hello, hello!” she says, cheerily. “So sorry to keep you waiting. Right this way!”
She leads us to her office, and Clarissa and I ease into big chairs facing her desk.
"Tell me all about the project,” she says, closing the door.
I run my hand through my beard. I can feel the nerves start to run through me. I’m comfortable as hell running a bar. But in this dry, arid office space, I’m out of my element.
Still, I’m not backing down.
"I've got a great opportunity for you," I begin enthusiastically. “Mrs. Crabtree, consider it an investment opportunity that will give back to this small town. Additionally, you’ll make the bank back its investment and then some. I've been a bartender and head manager at The Watering Hole for almost a decade. I can personally guarantee you this new place is going to be a huge success.”
"Okay.” She nods, squinting. She seems unconvinced. "Interesting. And it's good to see you as well, Clarissa, now that you’re back from Harvard. I’m so proud that one of our own Blackwell natives was smart enough to attend. And tell me, how long have you two been together now?"
I swallow as I process Mrs. Crabtree’s words. Clarissa and I make eye contact, trying to disguise our surprise.
“Uh, together?” I choke.
"Yes, together.”
Dead silence. Clarissa clears her throat. I’m about to interject when Mrs. Crabtree continues.
“Are you both worried at all about being business partners since you're dating?"
I swallow. "Excuse me?"
Clarissa’s eyes widen.
"Yes, I overheard you two talking in the lobby about how happy you are that you're together again, so I'm just wondering if you're nervous at all about dating while opening a small business together? Personally, I’ve seen huge successes from couple-projects, but also huge failures. Typically, the failures are due to a failed relationship. Even if the business idea is solid, it’s hard to sustain the beginning years of a business through relationship strife." A smile takes over Mrs. Crabtree’s face. “And you two do seem like quite the unlikely couple. No offense. I believe details about your relationship are quite germane to the discussion about whether or not you shall receive a loan.”
There's no room for hesitation. I look Clarissa in the eyes and place my hand on her knee.
"Clarissa and I could not be more thrilled about starting a small business together." My heart hammers like a bass drum. I don't even know where those words came from, but now we're in it.
"We've always made a great team," Clarissa echoes.
Relief pours through me. She's going along with it.
For now, at least.
"Well, it's good to see you're both on the same page. Clarissa, how is your mom doing by the way? I sent her a card after her treatment this summer."
"She’s doing much better, thank you!" Clarissa responds. "Cancer went into remission." "Wow, that's great to hear."
"I know," She swallows, and her eyes fill with an inner glow.
My heart warms, knowing Clarissa’s mom is going to be alright.
"Tell me a little bit more about this bar and this business opportunity.” Mrs. Crabtree’s voice takes on a businesslike tone again.
I’m about to continue, but Clarissa interjects.
"Well. We've got this great idea and this dream.” She puts a hand over mine again, just like in the coffee shop. “This dream that is going to become a reality. Trust me on this Mrs. Crabtree, we've run the numbers and developed a business plan that shows Blackwell is in need of one more spot in a certain location. We did a geographical analysis and found that there is one particular spot on Fulton and Spring, just off Main Street, that is ideal. It would have a very profitable return on investment. If you want, I can send you the details via email."
; Mrs. Crabtree nods. "Hmm, that sounds like quite the opportunity."
"It is, it's a unicorn, Mrs. Crabtree," I chime in, awestruck by my amazingly smart new business partner—and fake girlfriend.
“A unicorn?”
“Yes. The property we scoped out is picture perfect. It’s a block from the downtown area of Blackwell, and it’s also a few blocks from the University, so the foot traffic will be enough to make it one of the most popular bars in town.”
“Throw in the fact that Mason is the best bartender for miles around, and this is a project that can’t miss,” Clarissa adds.
"Hmm," Mrs. Crabtree says, mulling over my application on her computer. I rushed through it earlier this afternoon online, and pray there weren’t any typos. "Looking at the application though, you are missing some details.” Mrs. Crabtree frowns.
My heart drops, and I think I might have screwed myself by rushing through this process. Typical.
"You know what? Most of the little things you missed are insignificant. I'll take care of them. I just need to know a little bit more about this property. Otherwise, I think for the amount you're requesting—we can make this happen. Especially for such an upstanding community member," she adds.
Her eyes drift from me to Clarissa.
I realize I wouldn’t be getting this loan if it weren’t for her and the pretend relationship we just invented.
"I'm going to have to run the details of this project by the board. But pending their approval--congratulations! Clarissa and Mason, you've got your first business loan!"
My heart beats so loud it threatens to pound its way into the room.
“Well, thank you,” I manage to say somewhat smoothly, with a smile.
“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Crabtree says. “And I’ve just sent off a text to your mom, Clarissa, inviting you all to dinner this Friday, to celebrate. She’s going to be so proud. See you tomorrow night!”
“Thank you so much!” Clarissa says.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Crabtree.”
Mrs. Crabtree leaves, and a wave of relief pours through me.
But it’s only temporary, because if I get this loan, it will be based on a big fat lie.
Bartender with Benefits Page 4