For once in my life, I don’t like what Bella’s saying. So, I snap. “Well, why don’t you sell the bakery?”
“Why would I?”
“If someone stopped in here and offered you a million dollars for your recipes, equipment, everything. Would you sell?”
“For a cool mil? Yes. My recipes are up here.” She taps her head. “I can open up another one down the street.”
“You’re missing my point.”
“Am I?”
“Bella,” I whine. “I love that house.”
She reaches her hands out, and I place mine in hers. This is the point in our conversation when Bella gets real.
I hate this part.
Most of the time.
“You can’t afford to keep that house after you’re finished. You know that.”
I nod. I do know that.
“But what if he wants to tear it down?” I can’t. No, I won’t have that.
“Does he?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t called them.”
“That’s a valid concern. You need to call and ask them what their intensions are for the Little house.”
“Right.” Not today, though. I’m not ready to call them today. “I’ll call them ASAP.”
“You’re lying.”
“No.” I’m blushing. That’s my tell. Sighing, I give in. “Fine. I’ll call them. Later.”
“Later today?”
“Sure.” Anything’s possible, but I’d put my money on tomorrow. Or the next day.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
LOU
It turns out,later meant four days. Four days and twelve hours, to be exact.
What? They gave me five business days.
I did it. I called. Finally.
I turned them down.
And it’s not because they were going to tear down the old place. Well, at least I don’t think they were planning on doing that. The thing is, they wouldn’t tell me. They said the offer was the only information they were going to provide me, and legally, they didn’t need to tell me diddly-squat. (Not in those exact words.)
I thanked them for their kind offer but turned them down. Flat.
Since then, I’ve received two additional registered letters, each offering slightly more money than the last. In the end, they were up to nearly six hundred thousand dollars.
