Maybe things are finally turning around. A win for the good guys. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice whispers:
Please don’t be too good to be true.
Ben
Milton’s voicecrackles through my phone, warm and familiar in that way older men have when they’ve spent a lifetime learning how to sound reasonable while applying pressure. “So,” he says, “about dinner.”
My jaw tightens. “Dinner?”
“With you and Grace. I would love to meet with you two again to go over a few things. We’ve tried a few times now.”
“Right. Yes. It’s just… our schedules have been?—”
“Busy,” he finishes gently. “Everyone’s busy, son.”
I rub my temple. He isn’t wrong. I’m just also a liar.
Milton discontinues with the small talk this time. “Ben,” he says quietly, “we’ve had another offer.”
My spine straightens. “Oh?”
“Cash. Clean. No contingencies.”
There it is. “And?”
“And before I entertain it, I wanted to call you.”
My stomach tightens. “You did?”
“Yes. I want to know if the two of you are still planning to build a life here or if this is simply business.”
I swallow.
“I liked Grace,” he continues. “How she spoke about wanting to be a nurse. And you are going to be running this inn. I love that the two of you are planning to contribute to the community, not just profit from it.”
The community, the hotel, the future I accidentally invented with a woman I don’t even know, much less have a relationship with.
“This place deserves to go to people who willstay. Not flip it. I need to know I didn’t misjudge you.”
My voice comes out quieter than I intended. “You didn’t.”
“Then let’s have dinner,” he encourages. “Soon.”
I feel like I’m at a crossroads here. How long can I continue this charade with this kind old man? As badly as I want this property, lying to him in order to get it feels wrong. It’s clear. I’m no ruthless business tycoon who can close a deal regardless of the obstacles before me. I drag a hand down my face. “I can’t,” I admit.
There’s silence. “You mean you won’t,” Milton corrects. “And that tells me everything I need to know.”
My heart slams into my ribs. “I’m sorry, Mil?—”
My phone vibrates, and Max’s name lights up the screen. Perfect timing.Or terrible.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I’m afraid I have to take this.”
He exhales. “You have forty-eight hours, Ben. After that, we move forward with the other buyer.” The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, chest tight. I switch calls feeling crushed by this impossible situation. “Hey, Max.”
“Hey,” he says lightly. “Just thought you should know… the girl you mentioned? She booked a flight.”
