CHELSEA
I didn’t mean to do that.Crap!I really must seem like a crybaby right now.
What the heck has gotten into me? I’m usually very good at keeping my feelings to myself so I don’t burden the other people in my life. Everyone has enough of their own crap going on without my silly little drama adding to the mix.
The two men in the room stare at me, then Brad, being the gentleman that he is, reaches to Mason’s desk and passes me the tissue box. “I’m so sorry.” His face is confused, and undoubtedly so. His eyebrows knit together, and his jaw ticks.
Mason runs around our side of the desk and throws his arms around me saying, “Chelsea, what’s wrong? Isn’t this good news?” He casts Brad a worried glance, and he frowns even more.
“Yeah, Chels, I thought you’d be happy?” Brad palms the back of his head. “I mean, it makes sense to at least see what the comps are, doesn’t it?”
I dab my eyes and blow my nose unceremoniously. “I’m sorry,” I blubber. “I just… I went to the bank the other day. A friend of a friend told me about the building coming up, so Ihurriedly went to see if I could—” I trail off; he can figure out the rest.
Mason, however, hasn’t quite caught on. “I take it you didn’t get good news?” The look of sympathy in his eyes is exactly what I was trying to avoid, but his heart is in the right place.
“I’m really sorry I upset you,” Brad says. “That wasn’t my intention. I had no idea that you even knew about the property going up for sale.”
I nod meekly. “It’s not your fault.” I wave a hand at him. “It’s just me being a big crybaby. I just need to pull up my big girl pants and think of a Plan B. Which may or may not include finding a new premises for my business, spending thousands of dollars fitting it out, and then scoping for an affordable place to live that won’t send me broke, and close to Deaton’s school district so he doesn’t have to change schools.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mason says as I nod, trying to not let the shame and heat show on my face. “Whatever we can do to help, you just gotta ask, right, Bradley?”
Brad is still staring at me with dark, thunderous eyes, and those eyebrows could cut glass. “Can you give us a minute, Mase?” he asks.
Mason, no doubt attempting to lighten the mood, claps his hands together and grabs the other container on his desk. “I’ll just check on Deaton and see if anyone would like to try the funfetti.” He smiles at me as I squeeze him on the shoulder.
“Brad, you really don’t have to do this,” I say, before he can get a word in. “I’m a big girl now, and unfortunately, sometimes things just don’t always work out how you want them to. I just have to think of what I’m going to do and how much time I have before the bakery gets snapped up.”
“There’s every chance that the new owners would let you keep renting the property,” he starts.
I nod. “Exactly. It’s early days yet, I’m probably just jumping the gun.” I don’t need to tell him that there were other people interested in commercial property in this area, according to Bea. But I have to be prepared for all angles. “I think I’m just disappointed that no matter what, I’ll always be renting, and owning my own business and home is looking like a faraway dream.”
He moves toward me slowly, like a lion approaching a frightened hyena. I don’t want him to think that’s what I am, but then again, there is this predatory look in his eyes I’ve never seen before. It’s kinda hot.
“I’m never gonna forgive myself for this,” he says, surprising me.
I blanch. “Forgive yourself for what?”
He reaches out, stroking my cheek with his thumb in such a gentle manner, I swear my soul leaves my body. “For making you cry.”
My eyebrows shoot up in response. “It wasn’t your fault. I just had a moment of weakness. I’m sorry?—”
He continues to look at me in a way I’ve never seen before. True regret washing over his handsome face; he’s really cut up at the idea that he hurt me. I want to laugh out loud, but it would only come out as one of those horrid snort laughs and I’d sound like a wounded pig. “Don’t ever apologize to me for being yourself,” he says. “Ever. You hear me,Mama?”
I nod. Even if it’s only halfhearted. Now I’ve got Bradley Lucas worrying about me.
I try to brighten my smile and show him I’ll pull through, I mean, I will eventually. “I’m fine, honestly.”
He’s still caressing my cheek when he says; “You know you might be able to pull that cute face charade with anyone else, but you don’t fool me. You’re allowed to get upset, mad, stamp yourfeet, whatever you need to do. I’m here for you. We’re friends. We’re here for each other. It’s what we do.”
I swallow my pride and take a breath. “Thank you. I appreciate that, Brad. For the moment I don’t need to stamp my feet, honestly, I’m good. I just had a moment, and that’s done now.”
“We need to go to Greeks.”
I laugh. “No, we do not need to throw plates.”
Greeks is an adventurous, adrenaline-fueled place downtown where people literally go to smash plates against the wall, tables, chairs — whatever.
“It’s therapeutic. Studies have shown that throwing plates or smashing a punching bag can reduce stress by up to seventy percent. We should try it.”
