It’s quite likely that no man does.
Images from the night before dance in my mind, and I hang my head, wishing I’d handled the evening differently. There’s no logical explanation for why I feel this way about a woman I’ve known less than twenty-four hours. To think that what I felt for my ex had me believing I’d found the real thing. It’s laughable. But there’s no sense thinking I can move on as if last night hasn’t changed everything. Without knowing more about her.
This woman made me want more. Not just more of her, but more timewith her.
Not sure where to start looking. But find Grace I will. And once I do, I’ll move heaven and earth for this woman to give me a chance.
17
BEN
If charm were currency,I’d already own this damn motel. At least if charm worked on Milton Beaumont. Milton had been downright jovial the morning after he met Grace. Smiling. Slapping my shoulder. Offering to send me home with a pie. An actual homemade pie. He’d called her “a breath of fresh air” and “good for the soul.”
Hell, like I didn’t already know it.
He’d told me he could justtellI was a good man. Sure, the guilt is real. I know it isn’t right to lie to the old guy. But why does it matter if I’m married? No one can do for this property what I envision doing. His dead wife’s ghost can hang out in the new digs as often as she likes. Holy hell, scratch that. The last thing I need is for this property to come to fruition, only to have it hit the news that it’s inhabited by the previous owner’s dead wife.
Two weeks later, the pie is gone, the smiles are gone, and Milton Beaumont has suddenly developed a suspicious relationship with the phrase,my lawyers are still working out the particulars.
Every time I suggest the two of us meet for dinner again, I get some variation of:
It’s a busy week.
Mercury is in retrograde.
I sneezed funny and now my left knee hurts.
I’m starting to suspect his attorneys are actually just three raccoons in trench coats. Something tells me if I started the conversation with “Grace would love to meet up with the two of us for dinner” his schedule would be wide open.
Still, I use the delay to my advantage. I’ve reworked the blueprints twice, planned a full electrical overhaul, upgraded HVAC, and designed a lobby that won’t feel like it was furnished by a retired Miami vice cop in 1987. The bones are good. The view is spectacular. The restaurant is shockingly solid.
Honestly, the fact that the food is good might be the most surprising thing about the place. One of its redeeming qualities, along with the lakefront view. I’ll need to tweak the menu until I can find a Michelin star chef to commit to working here, but there’s no sense going there until I can more clearly share my vision with them.
Between the restaurant, the view, Milton’s genius idea of an additional outdoor dining area and dancefloor, and the price point, I feel like I’ve located the perfect starter location for my business. That isifI can ever get Milton to sign on the dotted line.
This whole undertaking is harder than I expected. Not because the work is difficult, but because I’m doing it without a small army behind me. My stepfather and stepbrother could roll out a luxury property in under a year with fifteen assistants, six consultants, and a partridge in a pear tree. I’m trying to do it with grit, spreadsheets, and caffeine.
But I’m not complaining. I want to do this on my own. When it becomes the unique, successful venture I envision it to be, I want to know I earned it. And even if I’ll never admit it out loud, I want my family to be proud of me.
Oh,what a week. The interviews. Oh, the interviews. I think hiring someone who can take over this process has moved to the top of my priority list because the conversations with potential new hires have nearly caused me to have a stroke.
This week alone I’ve interviewed a project manager who kept calling the motel a “spiritual vortex,” a subcontractor who tried to pay me in crypto and his cousin’s award winning goat cheese, and an administrative assistant who asked if PTO stood forPositive Thought Opportunities.
I barely managed to survive those when another man insisted he only worked barefoot because it kept him “grounded to the Earth’s energy.”
Sir, this is a demolition zone. You are grounded to tetanus.
The last candidate I spoke with asked if the motel was haunted. My thoughts quickly raced to Patricia. So I answered honestly. Yet when I said I didn’t know, she replied, “Well, that’s a red flag.”
I’m starting to believe the most difficult renovation I’ll face is rebuilding my faith in humanity.
My current officeis located inside my rental, an older Victorian with a wraparound porch and creaky floors that announce your presence like a horror movie soundtrack. Let’s just say I did not fall in love with it immediately. Honestly, I thought I would’ve moved on to something else by now. But I’m only there to sleep, work, and shower. Occasionally, I reheat takeout.
It’s drafty, smells faintly of old books and regret, and has the kind of bones that whisperpotential.The more I’m here, the more I can picture what it could be. Maybe that’s what has me stuck here.
That seems to be my kryptonite, seeing how much life I can breathe back into something that’s been forgotten. I think that’s the allure of building my business around locations which already have hotels in place I can mold to fit the needs of my guests.
That said, my living situation currently resembles a college apartment occupied by someone who lost a bet. But I bought this place for one reason. To have a place to stay while I attempt to get my business up and running. I have no real furniture to speak of. Just a mattress on the floor and big dreams. Hell, I could probably spring for a bedframe at least. So I’m not climbing off the floor when I get up each morning,
