Nathan bats his eyes at Nick, and Nick goes for a cheek kiss, and then I have to look away and focus on my bread pudding because it feels like a terribly intimate moment.
“And here we are,” Nick says breathlessly. “Ten years later.”
I make a point of looking around the room. “Well, I’m not hungover or ready for a hike, but if my dream man would like to walk in, I’m ready.”
As if on cue, the front door opens, out in the lobby, and Nickand Nathan look at each other like Sleeping Beauty’s fairy godmothers waiting for their spell to come true.
And then they promptly burst out laughing.
“Morning, Abraham,” Nick says as the thousand-year-old man shuffles into the room in his house slippers.
“Mornin’, boys.” Abraham drops a crumpled dollar in the fishbowl and loads up an extra-large margarine tub with as much breakfast as it can hold. “Ma’am.” He gives me a nod but doesn’t appear to have any idea that I am currently his boss. Without another word, he shuffles right back out the door.
“So we need to work on your foreshadowing skills,” Nick starts, and they both try not to laugh.
I drag my hands down my face; I cannot cry again. “I can’t believe I have to pay that man actual money to run a video rental store. For the rest of his life. He’s probably going to outlive me.”
Nick and Nathan share another look.
“You know that store is a money pit, right?” Nathan asks, but gently.
I sigh and put down my fork. “I know. My plan is to close it down, rent out all the storefronts and apartments, and send Abraham a check from Alabama because it’s honestly the least depressing of my options. Y’all know any good real estate agents?”
Nathan grimaces. “Oh, honey…”
“What he means to say is that”—Nick rubs his beard—“if those properties were rentable, they’d be rented. Maggie used to bitch about it all the time, said she was too old to do that much work and didn’t have any young people she could bully into doing it. The theater has water damage, the hardware store is full of old hardware and not fit to be anything else, the antiques market has vermin. One of the apartments got trashed by an angry renter she kicked out, and the other one was owned by a hoarder. Theywould take a significant amount of work to get in shape to rent.”
Shit.
Shit shitshit.
Colonel didn’t tell me how bad it truly was before I signed those papers.
Maggie definitely lied about it.
And now I’m stuck with it.
“Your best bet is probably to just sell it all to Joyce Blakely and call it a day.”
I slurp the last of my amazingly delicious latte, knowing I’m going to need every bit of caffeine within to keep from sliding onto the floor like a defeated slug. “I can’t sell it. The trust says it all has to stay in the family. And my grandmother hated Joyce Blakely, so even if that was an option, I’m pretty sure that would be the last thing in the world she wanted.”
At that, Nick and Nathan exchange a grimace.
“Yes, there were several feuds. Bad blood,” Nick says.
“Little old people in little old towns, I swear,” Nathan adds. “Like they just need something to fuss about. And I never could get the actual story out of anyone. But here’s someone we can ask….” He smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. The front door opens and closes, and there’s Hunter Blakely.
11.
The moment Isee Hunter, I know it was a mistake to come down to breakfast in my polka-dot pajamas with my hair still in a ratty bun. He’s wearing a plaid flannel over a white T-shirt with well-fitting jeans and work boots, his hair still a little wet from the shower, and he looks absolutely delicious; and that’s from someone already stuffed to the gills with bread pudding.
“Rhea!” His face lights up, which just about makes me do one of those dances bees do when they find honey. “You here for biscuits?”
“I’m here for everything,” I say. “How about you?”
“Biscuits and coffee. Best way to start the day. I was just about to text you—”
“Hunter, your grandma hated Maggie Kirkwood, right?” Nathan calls from the other room, where the hiss of the steamer suggests he’s making something to sweeten Hunter right up.
