"Pleasure doing business," he says, smirking before slipping back into his car.
I watch as he drives away, leaving us standing in front of this disaster of a purchase. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if a thick cloud of smoke burst from his engine and swallowed us whole, just to drive home how utterly dire our situation is.
Missy exhales slowly.
"What. A. Dick.”
We both stand there in silence for a moment, taking the place in. I should have put more effort into researching the building. Should have asked morequestions, dug deeper, done something other than blindly trusting the listing. But I was too preoccupied, too focused on escaping Sam, on chasing the life I wanted at the ranch, and on building something new for myself. At the time, it had seemed simple.
It's just a building; I had told myself. How hard could it be to clean it up a little? You throw on a fresh coat of paint and voila!
But now, looking at the cracked windows, the peeling paint, the air of neglect hanging over it like a warning, I realise, this isn’t just a fixer upper.
This is a problem.
"I guess we'd better check it out then," Missy says, snapping me out of my thoughts as she gestures toward the front door.
Oh, no. I hadn’t even thought about the inside.
Surely it can’t be that bad.
"Yeah, I guess so," I mumble, forcing my legs to move as I step toward the door.
My fingers tremble as I slide the key into the lock, listening for the telltale click. I pull down on the handle, and the door groans in protest, creaking loudly before jamming halfway open. Gritting my teeth, I nudge it with my shoulder, then shove harder, finally forcing it free.
We step inside.
And something inside me sinks.
The smell hits first— stale, thick, and tinged with dampness. Dust swirls in the air, disturbed by our entrance and catching the muted sunlight that filters through gaps in the grimy windows. The floor is warped, uneven, with patches of discolouration where water has seeped in over the years. Peeling wallpaper curls in jagged strips, hanging limply from the walls.
It’s worse than I imagined.
"Oh," Missy says, dragging out the single syllable as she surveys the damage.
I release a shaky breath, my fingers tightening around the keys in my hand.
"This was supposed to be a bookshop," I murmur, barely recognizing my own voice. "A cosy little space, warm, inviting. Somewhere people could escape into stories."
I scan the room, trying to picture shelves lining the walls, a reading nook tucked in the corner, the scent of fresh coffee wafting through the air. But that dream feels so distant now, buried beneath the rotting wood and suffocating dust.
Missy nudges a fallen ceiling tile with the toe of her boot. "Well … maybe it still could be?"
I stare at her.
She shrugs. "I mean, it’s a disaster, yeah, but disasters can be fixed. Walls can be painted, and floors can be repaired. It’s not like it’s impossible."
I let out a slow breath, staring at the space around me. It’s bad—worse than I expected, but Missy’s right. It can be fixed. "You’re right," I say finally, nodding as if convincing myself as much as her. "It’s not impossible. It just needs a hell of a lot of work."
Missy gestures around.
“Well … at least it’s got character. Although maybe a few structural regrets.”
I laugh, but this time, it’s lighter. Less bogged down with disappointment. "Good thing I don’t give up that easily."
This building mirrors everything I’ve been feeling lately: broken in places, worn down by neglect, and misuse. But it’s still standing. Still here. And maybe that’s enough.
My mind begins to spin, piecing together a plan. The rest of the money from my inheritance is enough to cover repairs, at least the big ones. And the rest? I’ll figure it out. I’ll roll up my sleeves, learn what I need to, put in the sweat equity myself. Because this place isn’t just a project. It’s proofthat I can start over. That I don’t have to be defined by the damage, I can be the one who rebuilds. I will get this place how I want it. Because I refuse to let this stop me. Just like I refuse to let Ford’s hesitation hold me back either. His doubt wasn’t cruel, but he obviously doesn’t think I can make this work. But I’m determined to prove him wrong.
