A few minutes later, he was pulling along the curb in front of Jeff’s sprawling 1970s ranch house. It looked the same as it always had with its wide front porch outlined in white trim. The style was different than the fancy Victorian Jeff had once fancied, and truth be told, Mack much preferred this. Each end of the house matched the other, though one was a side-facing garage, the other three bedrooms and two large bathrooms. Mack thought about all the nights he’d spent here, the conversations he and Jeff had shared regarding Mack moving in with him. That had never happened, which was only one of the many regrets Mack had.
Jeff’s police-issue cruiser was parked in the driveway, and Mack knew the old Ford truck he loved was in the garage because Jeff didn’t take it out much anymore.
Figuring it was only a matter of time before Jeff realized he was parked outside, Mack forced his weary body out of the truck. He grabbed the stack of papers, held them against his chest as he marched over the brittle grass that would soon return to its glorious green once spring made its way back around.
His boots sounded loud on the wooden porch, his knuckles louder on the door. Mack didn’t bother stepping back. For one, he didn’t have the energy, and two, if he did, he feared he would simply turn around and run.
“Mack?” Jeff greeted when he pulled the glossy blue door open, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows lowering as though he was both surprised and concerned to find Mack there.
Rather than speak, he shoved the papers in Jeff’s direction.
“Come in,” Jeff said, relieving him of the documents before stepping backward. “Why are you not wearin’ a coat?”
Mack shrugged, glad to see his legs still worked as he walked into the wide-open space. He’d loved this house, but not because of its country charm. More so because it felt like a home, unlike the three bedrooms he occupied only a few blocks over. Jeff’s house was bright and airy, a hint of cinnamon drifting from one of the candles he had always kept burning in the kitchen.
The door closed behind him, and Mack was aware of Jeff’s footsteps following him deeper into the house.
“I just made a pot of coffee,” Jeff told him. “Would you like some?”
Mack nodded, continued toward the kitchen.
Jeff set the papers on the small pedestal table with its matching white, spindle-backed chairs. The blinds covering the windows in the breakfast nook were all open, letting in the brilliant winter light. The backyard looked the same as always, with the exception of the blue and white doghouse that used to sit unoccupied in the grass. Jeff’s golden retriever—Teddy—had passed away a few years ago, and it looked as though Jeff had opted not to get another four-legged companion. He briefly wondered if he would one day.
“Thanks,” Mack said when Jeff handed him a white cup.
“Sit,” Jeff urged, nodding to one of the chairs.
He did.
Jeff joined him, pulling the stack of papers toward him. “This looks like an offer for the bar.”
“It is.”
Mack remained quiet while Jeff skimmed the pages.
“It looks like a good offer to me,” Jeff finally said, his tone uneasy, as though he didn’t know what Mack expected him to say.
“Travis seems rather intent on acquirin’ it,” Mack snapped, the heat of his words fizzling out before he finished the sentence.
Jeff set his mug down and turned his attention to him. “I don’t think that’s what this is.”
“No?” Mack nodded toward the papers. “Quite a bit over the asking price. Seems pretty insistent to me.”
Jeff sighed, then reached over and touched his arm. “Mack, I think you’re missing the point here.”
Mack stared down at the hand on his arm. “And what might that be?”
“Travis is ensuring you don’t sell it to anyone else. His offer reflects his desire to be the highest, just in case.”
Lifting his gaze, he locked eyes with Jeff. “Just in case what?”
For the first time since they’d renewed whatever this was, Mack saw true pain in Jeff’s eyes when he said, “In case you really go through with this.”
Mack swallowed hard, his throat clogged with emotion. He’d tried to battle it back since he’d read the words on the cover letter for the first time, but they were closing in on him now.
Though the emotion tore at his voice, he finally said aloud what he’d been thinking all along, “I don’t want to sell, Jeff.” He inhaled deeply, forcing down a sob. “I don’t want to sell.”
*
