I shouldn’t tell him, but the number is so big, so impossible, that it just pops out anyway. “Three and a half million.”
The glass in Wyatt’s hand hits the top of the bar harder than necessary.
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him I needed time to think about it.”
“To think about it.” He’s not even looking at me now, just staring down at the glass. “So you’re actually considering this? You’ve only been here a few weeks, and you’re already looking for the exit door?”
“Well, now that’s not fair, is it?”
He finally looks up, and his expression is harder than I’ve ever seen. “You said you were trying. You wanted to figure out what you wanted for once in your life. But the second someone waves money in your face, you’re ready to bail.”
“I didn’t say I was ready to bail. I said I needed time to think about it.”
“What is there to think about? This is people’s lives, Eleanor. Their jobs. Their community. This place,” he gestures around, and his voice cracks, “this place is more than real estate. It’s our home.”
“I know that.”
“Well, do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still thinking it’s a business transaction. Like everything that’s happened here—” He stops himself, his jaw tightening.
“Like everything that’s happened here, what?” I stand up, anger rising to match his. “Say it, Wyatt.”
“Like everything that’s happened between us is just something you’re willing to walk away from as long as the price is right.”
The words hang in the air between us, sharp and painful.
“That’s not fair,” I say again, my voice shaking. “You don’t get to make this about us. This is about my future, my financial survival. You have no idea what it’s like to?—”
“To what? To need money? To make hard choices?” His laugh is bitter. “I came back from Afghanistan with PTSD and medical bills I’m still paying off. I moved back in with my grandmother because I couldn’t afford rent. I worked three jobs before Mavis gave me this one, so don’t you tell me what I don’t understand.”
“Well then, you should understand why I’m considering it.”
“I understand that you’re scared. I understand that it is life-changing money. But I also understand there are things worth more than money. And if you can’t see that, if you can’t see what you’d actually be giving up—” He stops, shaking his head.
“What? What would I be giving up?”
He looks at me for a long moment. And suddenly he’s resigned, like he’s lost everything. He says quietly, “You’d be giving up everything.”
He turns and walks away, disappearing into the back of the bar, leaving me standing alone at the table with Gary Allen’s folder and the weight of the offer pressing down on my chest like a boulder.
I don’t see Wyatt for the rest of the afternoon. Presley works the bar, looking at me, concerned but not asking questions. Dolly arrives for her evening shift and immediately knows something is wrong.
“What happened?” she asks, cornering me in the office.
“A developer made an offer on the bar.”
“Gary Allen?”
I blink. “You know him?”
“I know of him.” Her expression darkens. “He’s been sniffing around Copper Creek for months. He’s made offers on the hardware store, the bakery, and Grits and Grind. He’s been turned down every single time.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because we didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to even listen to him.” She crosses her arms. “What did he offer you?”
“Three and a half million.”
