by Katie Cross
“I know this is going to work.” She tapped a finger on the paper that detailed my projected profit-and-loss for four months from now. “How could it not?”
Well, a thousand ways, but no need to interject them. He would see them as well as I could. Steven looked at me with shrewd intent as he peered over the top of his thin, black-rimmed glasses. For several seconds, we said nothing.
“It’s something.” Steven leaned back in his chair, waving a hand toward the paperwork. “It’s lovely what you’ve done. Really. But that plan could take months. Your father promised me the same thing. Bethany, it’s not you that’s failing. It’s the shop. The store. The property is bloody cursed. Not even the strongest plan could work there. Nothing ever has.”
Her lips tightened. “With all due respect,” she murmured, “no one has ever been me, either.”
The struggle to keep from clapping was real.
Steven stared at her, then burst out laughing. “Fair confidence, dear Bethany. I love seeing that in a woman. But confidence doesn’t pay over three hundred thousand dollars of debt, if you include the mortgage.”
Now I was ready to get involved.
Bethany spoke before I could open my mouth. “What if I could cover the overdue payments on the mortgage and guarantee to leave the line of credit alone?”
I tried not to stare at her and give him reason for suspicion, but my brain immediately flipped.
Wait, what?
Such a sassy remark could only mean she had an undisclosed asset, and I didn’t like that at all. Unexpected assets in a negotiation meant she hadn’t been fully transparent with me. Did that bother me because I was her consultant, or because it was Bethany?
Steven steepled his hands in front of him like a mad scientist. “Go on,” he murmured.
“Let’s say I could front . . . ten thousand. That would cover the last three months and this month’s mortgage payment. At the very least, square us up.”
Steven’s nose wrinkled. “How?”
Yeah, I wanted to say. How? She’d definitely left something out on purpose. A tangled web, this one.
She swallowed hard, her throat working. “The bike.”
His eyes widened. “Your father’s motorcycle.”
“Yes.”
“I know the one.” He immediately straightened. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he said it was a Christmas miracle he’d found it and that the gods of Christmas didn’t mess around, so you didn’t want to anger them.”
The corners of my lips twitched. I was sad I’d never meet her dad.
“I still have it.”
“What can you get for it?”
“At least ten thousand. Dad bought it new in December, so it’s not yet a year old. He rarely drove it this winter. I’ve only put a few hundred miles on it so far. If I can do that, will you allow me some extra grace in the upcoming months . . . if it’s needed?”
For the first time, a flicker of humanity showed in Steven’s face. “Are you really ready to give that up for this shop? You may be sinking all this money into something doomed to fail, and giving up parts of your father with it, Bethany.”
She hesitated for half a breath.
“Yes.”
“Then . . . yes. I’ll take that as a measure of good faith. Or desperation. It at least proves how serious you are, if nothing else. You still have interest on the line of credit, and some fees on the back payments, but we can waive those for a later date. You truly believe this will work?”
“Yes.”
All business now, he nodded. “Great. Get me the money, and we can talk about dropping your payments by five hundred dollars, extending your credit due date by a year, and giving you an additional six months to prove the changes will work.”
“Thank you.” She infused just the right amount of grace with confidence. “I appreciate the flexibility.”
He waved a hand. “Shoot me a monthly email report so I can track things as they happen, and then we’ll discuss payments as they come. You have a lot to prove.”
17
Bethany
Exactly ten steps outside the bank, I squealed, spun, and threw my arms around Maverick. He caught me with calloused hands, preventing us both from falling.
Seconds later, I realized my massive mistake. His body. My arms. His grip. Heat swelled between us like a nuclear explosion. Forcing myself to push away and create distance, I shot him a grin, sliding my aviators over my eyes as if I did this every day.
As if I wasn’t absolutely starving for a protective touch.
“We did it!” I cried, sounding only half-strangled.
He blinked, no doubt recovering from the shock of finding a client in his arms. Couldn’t have been too traumatized, because he managed a smile. “No, you did it.”
“That was . . .”
My hands shook, even though the rush had evaporated within minutes of explaining Maverick’s plan. No, our plan. I’d made suggestions last night that he’d immediately adopted. It almost felt within my fingertips. Entirely possible. At the very least, I knew what to do to make this more likely.
And then?
Real estate license.
“Now,” Maverick said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his khakis, “you have to sell the bike.”
My elation bottomed out like a quick discount on Rue La La.
“Oh. Right.”
I bobbled a bit on my heels as we headed toward his truck. He reached out to steady me, but I ignored the proffered hand. A ball had risen up in my throat, blocking my ability to thank him for the kind gesture. At that moment, the realization slammed into me: taking the girls meant giving up more of Dad. I wasn’t ready for this.
But I kind of had to be.
A somber feeling washed over us as we climbed into the truck. My life already felt out of my control. Now it was a runaway train on fire. Didn’t matter if I wanted to mourn Dad a bit longer. The girls needed me here and now.
Thankfully, the Frolicking Moose was just down the road. Technically, I could have walked, but I was already tired of wearing heels.
Could you force grief processing?
Did I have a for sale sign?
Why did Maverick smell so good?
Why were my thoughts all over the place?
“Penny for your thoughts,” Maverick said in a subdued tone as we sat in the truck, not going anywhere. Heat from the rising sun already made it too warm, but I welcomed the burn.
“I just . . . Steven is right. Isn’t he? I do have to give up pieces of my dad.”
He nodded, seeming to process that. I set my hands in my lap with a sigh.
“I guess there isn’t much of a choice. I just . . . I wish I didn’t have to. The bike is more than just a piece of my dad. It’s . . . my thing. The only way I have of really getting away from this stupid coffee shop. We bonded over motorcycles. I try to ride it every evening before I go to bed, just to . . . feel something, you know?”
Maverick’s brow furrowed. “A little, yes.”
Sighing, I looked back outside. I should stop rambling. He was a business consultant, not a therapist, and he certainly hadn’t asked for this. Sometimes I wished I wasn’t quite so open about how I felt.
An open book, Bee, Dad always said. You always have been.
Blinking back a hot rush of tears, I swallowed the emotion and said, “Thanks for coming with me. It meant a lot to have you in there.”
He shrugged. “You carried that whole thing yourself.”
“It’s nice to have someone in the room for me, though.”
The admission came out quieter than I expected, and cost a little more courage than I thought it would. Loneliness had forced my hand in a lot of ways. Taught me to reach out to friends. Showed me the sheer power of a broken heart. Made me pick myself up by my bootstraps and try again the next day. Day after day after day. But it had never been a warm companion there just for me.
Having him at my side meant more than he’d ever know. Even if he
would just leave in the end.
My heart ached again, and I longed to freshen my lipstick and cruise real estate listings for a few hours. There were several gorgeous homes I’d been salivating over, watching to see the market and their progress in it. So much to learn just by studying, really.
Instead, I’d go back and write more processes down. Figure out where things were broken and attempt to fix them. Allow Lizbeth to create an organizational structure for the storage room based off a Pinterest board she’d been showing me, and hope Ellie got rid of that ridiculous blanket.
Talk about the opposite of minimalism. For the first time since his unexpected arrival, I regretted saying yes to Maverick. Because now I knew I’d have to say goodbye to him too. That stung a bit too much.
“Would you mind taking me back?” I asked.
He hesitated, mouth open as if he wanted to say something. Then he nodded. “Sure.”
The truck started with a roar, and we pulled away in silence.
Two days later, my heart threatened to give out.
Watching a total stranger circle Dad’s bike with an assessing eye made me want to snap at him. Stop touching it!
Instead, I stood back, arms tight at my side. Dad might not have taken care of the coffee shop, but he sure took care of his bike. A detailed binder of every oil change, repair, and update lay on the table outside the Frolicking Moose.
Lizbeth, with a stack of new romance novels we’d gleaned from the library the previous evening, hunkered in her chair in the shop, a fan blowing on her. Ellie ran in and out the back door, searching the weeds near the reservoir. Every now and then her head would pop up, watching the back of the hair salon where Devin often appeared. She was scrounging for something, but kept her search a mystery.
Maverick worked inside, standing in my postage stamp of an office while he spoke with someone on a teleconference call. Every now and then, his deep, rolling voice would laugh. I could only pick up a few words here and there.
Templates. Indicators. Rate of return. Mallory.
My head, unfortunately, focused on the word Mallory. Who was Mallory? Why did he sound so amused when he spoke about her?
Why on earth did I care?
“Looks good,” the man said with a grunt, pulling me out of my thoughts. Blinking, I shook my head and adjusted my aviator sunglasses. Today, I’d worn a shade of bright-pink lipstick. The one I broke out when I meant business but didn’t want to dive too deep. More of a caution sign. Uncertainty mixed with poise. Or so I liked to think. I imagined I looked more like a fractured wall ready to crumble.
I waved a hand at the binder, my throat tight. “Everything is in there, if you want to look through it. Any repair work was done in town by Kareem, just down the road. My father bought it new in December. It has a long clutch, but you’ll get used to it.”
The guy looked up through bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “You ride it?”
My nostrils flared. “All the time.”
He grunted.
“If you want to try it, just leave me with a driver’s license and you can take it up and down the road here.”
A few minutes later, he drove off. I watched him go, grateful for a trial run that forced me to watch it leave. The engine puttered beautifully. Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them back. Now wasn’t the time. Later, I’d call Jada. Or I’d stop by her house and dissolve into a hot mess.
Wait. No, I wouldn’t. Because Lizbeth and Ellie would see, and ask why, and have one more thing to feel bad about.
One day, I’d feel all this.
Just not today.
“Did your Prince Charming just ride off into the sunset?”
Maverick stood in the shade of the porch just behind me. He leaned against the doorjamb, entirely too at ease for my comfort. If he had to be business savvy, did he have to be so rugged? Who was he, anyway, to stand on my stoop like that?
“He’s seventy-one, has assless chaps, and is ready to marry me in Vegas,” I said with forced levity. “As soon as he fills up with gas, he’s going to swing by and pick me up to drive me into the sunset.”
“Huh.”
“What? Didn’t see me as the eloping type?”
“No, didn’t see you as a ride-on-the-back type.”
At Maverick’s feet lay the For Sale sign that I’d removed when the guy had climbed on. I stared at it, then let out the thought that kept circling in my head. Maverick would understand. He’d been there, in the room with Steven. He drove motorcycles. He listened.
“I guess it seems fitting that Dad should have to pay for the mess he landed me in,” I said, not without some emotion.
“Fitting,” he murmured, “but not fair.”
Tears filled my eyes again. An unexpected, warm hand on my shoulder made me suck in a sharp breath. I could feel him behind me. The long planes of his chest. The strength of his hand weighing on me. He exuded heat, and not an unwelcome heat, either.
Would he think me totally crazy if I tucked myself against him and curled into a ball? Because that sounded like the best idea.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
The roar of the engine coming back down the road cut off my response. I shook my head and croaked, “Not yet.”
He didn’t move, so I stayed close to him as the stranger returned. Like gravity, Maverick kept me centered through the next couple of moments.
The man slipped off Dad’s bike, removed his helmet, and said, “I’ll take it. I’ll meet you at the bank in twenty minutes.”
18
Maverick
She played a tough game, but Bethany was Jell-O under that cracked exterior.
The Frolicking Moose lay in almost total silence while she dealt with the sale of the bike, chin held high and jaw firm. Lizbeth had retreated upstairs with an airy wave and a yawn after finishing another book. Ellie tromped around outside, talking to herself. Every now and then, she paused outside the office as if to see if I was still there. She still hadn’t said a word to me, but I couldn’t help feeling that she wanted me there. Just in case.
I stared at my spreadsheet, wondering.
Part of me couldn’t help but admire Bethany’s vulnerable tenacity. The girl wore her entire heart on her face. The other part of me regretted not buying the bike, hiding it, then giving it back when things smoothed out. I’d done it before. Bought my employee’s car right before he was going to lose it, then gave a low, interest-free loan until he got back on his feet. Did it for one of Father’s friends when he almost lost his house after his wife died from cancer.
But I had a feeling Bethany wouldn’t have taken it. Nor was it my job to save her.
Damn, but I wanted to.
Just as I updated my assistant on a few tasks for scouting out failing businesses in a small town in South Dakota, the front door opened. Seconds later, Bethany stepped behind the counter. Her fluttery summer dress shifted in the breeze. I shoved my computer in my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and stepped into the coffee shop. Her eyes were red and puffy, but her face clear. Lipstick fresh. A quick cry on the way back, no doubt.
She stared at the cash register, eyes glittering.
“It’s done,” she announced. Her voice wavered. “I have some safety on the mortgage, at least.”
“You did a hard thing today.”
She met my gaze. For several long seconds, neither of us said a word. She didn’t duck away or try to hide her grief. She stood there. In it. Owning that monster with regal strength and grace. A monster I didn’t dare approach. Maybe the monster I was running from.
I’d never seen anyone so devastated and so lovely in the same breath. The tears in her eyes sparkled like sunshine on the lake.
I’d never done that.
Sometimes, I didn’t even think about it. Like Bethany, it haunted me too.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “And it’s like . . . like he’s gone all over again.”
In two steps, I had her in my arms. She tucked her head under my
chin and released a tiny sob. Her hands gripped the back of my shirt in tight fists. She robbed my breath with her raw grief. When I put a hand on her head, stroking her hair, she calmed. My agitation settled with hers until I didn’t know who was comforting who.
She finally pulled away, a charming mixture of sheepish relief. “Thanks,” she whispered. She wiped at her tears with her fingers. “I, uh . . . it’s been a while since anyone has hugged me.”
I smiled and wished I could do far more than that. Unable to stop myself, I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. The tips of my fingers lingered on her jawline.
“You’re strength, Bethany. Strength.”
Before I could cross another line, and with the sound of my father’s voice ringing in my head, I turned away. Like a coward, I left before my heart slammed right out of my chest and told her everything I’d hidden away.
19
Bethany
My heart lay in a tangled heap, a hurricane of emotion for the rest of that week.
Why had I thrown myself into Maverick’s arms again?
Was I really so starved for touch?
Well, yes. Absolutely yes. I’d split from my last boyfriend well over a year ago, and aside from an occasional hug from Jada, I felt like a woman in a desert.
But why had he left so quickly?
Professional boundaries, probably. At least he had some. Clearly, I didn’t. We maintained careful distance over the following days. The work continued, and so did the tingling in the pit of my stomach every time he said my name. But I kept a careful amount of space between us. Distance was the only safety.
Because the last thing I needed was to get used to his touch. Work aside, Maverick kept himself a mystery. Would he leave once he fixed up his grandfather’s house? If he did, where would he go? Was this his career, or was there more?
And who the crap was Mallory?
When I wasn’t stewing over my unfortunate crush on the Viking, my thoughts alternated between Dad and the coffee shop. Sometimes, I could think of Dad and laugh. Sometimes, I felt nothing. When I did feel my grief, it crashed like a wave. All-encompassing. Terrifying. As if it wanted to drown me.