“You. Us. The life we were building.”
“Archie, the life we were building was exhausting. The constant networking, the social climbing, the pressure to be perfect all the time. I literally felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“But that’s just how things are in our world. You have to play the game.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to play the game anymore.”
Silence.
He finally speaks. “You’re obviously not thinking clearly. That place is affecting your judgment. Let me come up there and talk to you in person. I can help you see.”
“I don’t need you to help me see anything.” The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don’t take them back. “I appreciate the call, Archie. I do. But I need to figure this out on my own.”
“Ellie—”
“I’ll call you if I need legal advice. Goodbye, Archie.”
I hang up before he can respond, with my heart pounding in my chest and my hands shaking slightly.
And that’s when I notice Wyatt has been standing in the doorway.
I don’t know how long Wyatt has been standing there. Long enough to hear Archie call the people of Copper Creek hillbillies? Long enough to hear me defend them, or maybe I didn’t defend them forcefully enough? Long enough to know that someone in Atlanta is trying to convince me to leave?
His expression, of course, gives nothing away. That’s what I’m learning about Wyatt Rivers. He’s all easy smiles and gentle jokes until he’s not, and then his face becomes an unreadable mask that reminds me of what he’s survived, things I probably can’t imagine.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says. “Dolly sent me back to let you know the beer distributor is here for our weekly order.”
“Right, of course.” I stand up quickly, and my chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “I’ll be right there.” He nods and turns to leave. “Wyatt, wait.” He pauses in the doorway but doesn’t turn around. I can tell his shoulders are tense. “That was my ex-fiancé, Archie. He heard about the inheritance, and he was just, well, I suppose he was offering me unsolicited advice about what I should do with the bar.”
“Seems like he had strong opinions about it.”
Wyatt’s voice is still neutral, but there’s definitely an edge underneath it.
“He has strong opinions on everything. It’s one of the reasons we’re not together anymore.”
Wyatt finally turns around. “Are you planning to sell?”
The question is direct. No judgment. Just a man asking for information that affects his livelihood and his life.
“I don’t know what I’m planning,” I say. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
He nods slowly. “Fair enough. I mean, of course you don’t owe me or anyone else an explanation about what to do with your own property.”
The way he says it lets me know that even though I don’t owe him an explanation, the choice will have consequences for him, for Dolly, for Presley, for everyone who depends on this place.
“The distributor,” I prompt, trying to move us past the awkward moment.
“Right. I’ll tell him you’ll be out in a minute.”
He disappears down the hallway, and I’m left standing in Mavis’s office—my office now, I guess—with my heart beating too fast and my hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline of back-to-back difficult conversations.
I take a moment to breathe and smooth my hair, even though it’s already falling out of its twist, and then I head out to deal with the beer distributor.
The next few hours pass in a blur of inventory checks and signature scrawls, with Dolly teaching me the difference between various craft IPAs like it’s vital information for my survival.
Wyatt is there helping unload cases, but he’s not his usual self. He’s not cold, exactly, but he’s distant and professional, as if I’m his boss rather than someone he’s been teaching how to make decent coffee and teasing about my complete lack of knowledge of country music, and definitely not someone he taught to two-step not long ago.
It shouldn’t bother me this much. I mean, I’ve known this man for a very short amount of time, but it does bother me more than I want to admit.
