Chapter Five
Paige
Six Weeks Later...
“Please tell me you're not serious, Mrs. Brenton,” I say.
She shrugs and refills my coffee mug. “They made me a really nice offer,” she says. “I think I'd be a fool to turn it down.”
Mrs. Brenton is a sweet older lady. Her gray hair, as always, is pulled back into a long braid that hangs to the middle of her back. She's got a kind, soft face, and blue eyes that sparkle like the gemstone this town was named for. She's the grandmotherly type that always has a kind word, and I've been friends with her for a long, long time.
I sigh as I pour the sugar and cream into my coffee, sadness and disappointment running over me. Mrs. Brenton is the owner of Daily Cuppa, my favorite coffeehouse in town. It's where I come most mornings to get a bagel and a coffee before starting my day. It's been here forever. The Cuppa is practically an institution in Port Safira, with generations having passed through these doors.
And yet, now knowing that she was taking Damon Moore's offer and selling the place, I'm filled with a thousand times more disappointment, anger, and angst than I had been previously. I look around the place and recall coming in here when I was in high school, talking about my life with Mrs. Brenton, and enjoying the sense of camaraderie that existed between us.
“Honestly, sweetie,” she says. “You should really think about taking their offer. In fact, given your shop's position on the street, I'd be willing to bet you could make them sweeten the deal even more. You really could stand to make a mint if you sell.”
I shake my head. “I'm not interested in selling,” I say. “I've told them that a million times over, but they keep coming back and trying to talk me into it all over again.”
She cocks her head at me, a soft smile touching her lips. “And why don't you want to sell?” she asks.
“Honestly, I hate what they're doing to this town,” I say. “I hate that they're turning it into some cookie-cutter suburb for the rich and powerful. I hate that good people like you are being driven out.”
“Oh, I'm not being driven out, sweetie,” she says. “I'm choosing to leave. On my terms. I realize that it's time. And believe me, I made them give me a sweetheart of a deal for this property.”
I sigh. “I hate what they're turning this town into, Mrs. Brenton.”
She reaches across the counter and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “It's going to happen one way or the other, whether we like it or not,” she says. “Those wheels of progress are already turning and there's no way to stop them.”
It's a disgusting but inescapable truth. There is no way to stop what they're doing to my hometown and intellectually, I know that my little holdout, my principled little stand, is only going to be a minor inconvenience for them. They're going to change the nature of this town with or without my involvement.
I know this, and I hate it. I hate them for what they're doing.
“I don't like being strong-armed or bulled,” I say. “Mayor Goodrich has really been putting the squeeze on me to sell. But, the harder he pushes, the more I feel compelled to push back. It's like a reflex or something at this point.”
Mrs. Brenton laughs and claps her hands. “That's my girl, always the fighter,” she says. “Don't let them bully you into anything.”
“I certainly don't intend to.”
Her smile is soft and wistful as she looks at me. “I see so much of your mother and father in you,” she says. “They were kind, but they weren't the type you wanted to back into a corner. They were fierce when they needed to be.”
I smile and nod. “That they were.”
“Is that why you don't want to sell?” she asks. “Because of your parents?”
I feel the sting of the tears as they well in my eyes and the familiar pain in my chest whenever I think or talk about them. They've been gone for a few years now, but the wound in my heart feels as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
“That's all I have left of them,” I say. “That bookstore is their legacy. I feel like that bookstore is them.”
She gives my hand another squeeze and when I look up, there's a warm, gentle, and entirely grandmotherly smile on her face.
“No, honey,” she says. “Your shop is nothing but a pile of bricks, mortar, and books. Tearing it down won’t erase them or the legacy they built. Their legacy and the most impressive and important thing they ever created is you, sweetheart. And what you build, what you create, will only further their legacy – as well as your own. So long as you never forget them, their legacy will always be alive.”
I try to fight off the tears, but they roll down my cheeks anyway. I scrub them away quickly and sniff loudly.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “I'm not usually this emotional.”
“It's okay,” she replies. “Maybe you need to let yourself be. Once in a while, anyway.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I look at the older woman. “What do you think I should do, Mrs. Brenton?”
She sighs. “I can't tell you what you should do, sweetheart.”
“I know,” I say. “I'm just curious what you think I should do.”
“Honestly, what I think you should do is take a step back from it all,” she says. “Look at the facts on the ground with a critical and objective eye. You have to find some way to take all of the emotion out of it when you're faced with making a decision like this.”
“I don't know that I can.”
“You need to find a way, sweetheart,” she says. “If you can't look at the situation without some emotional bias, you're doing yourself a disservice by clouding the issue. You owe it to yourself to come at this with a clear mind and an objective voice.”
I scrub away the last of the tears and take a sip of my coffee, taking a moment to gather myself. Intellectually, I know what she's saying makes sense. But, I can't reconcile the cold logic in my mind with the fire in my heart and spirit.
“If I were as young and gorgeous as you,” Mrs. Brenton says, “I'd take the cash and move to someplace I could run around without any clothes on all day, find a stud of a man, and have lots of babies.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Positively scandalous, Mrs. B.”
She shrugs, a wide grin on her face. “Believe me, honey, when you get to be my age, you'll find yourself wishing for a body like yours and a man to make it feel good all-night long.”
Mrs. Brenton has always been a bit of a rebel. She's always had a wild streak in her – a streak that's mellowed with age. Somewhat. Hearing her speak this way isn't exactly out of the norm for her, but it's still surprising. She's a lot like Skyler, in a way – they both lack filters and will often say whatever pops into their head at the time.
The mention of my body, however, makes my cheeks flare with heat and color. I don't think I'm all that gorgeous. Especially compared to somebody like Skyler. I've got some curves, my boobs are a little too large, and my tummy isn't exactly supermodel tight.
Back in high school and college, I was an athlete. I played soccer – definitely not the sport of supermodels. Playing soccer, though, is what got me the scholarship that allowed me to go to UCLA in the first place. That was one of the reasons why it killed me so much to have to leave school. My parents wouldn't have been able to afford it and there was no way I could afford to go to school on my own. Actually, I still can't.
Being that close to my degree and not being able to finish it has been a thorn in my paw for a long while now. But it's something that I've had to learn to live with.
The electronic bell chimes as somebody steps through the door. I turn and am relieved to see Skyler strolling in. Despite being in yoga pants, Ugg boots, and a hoodie, she still manages to look fashionable and downright sexy. It's a skill I admire and envy at the same time.
Skyler drops down on the stool next to me and gives me a wide grin – a grin that I can interpret easily enough. Mrs. Brenton sets a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin – Skyler's usual – down on the counter and then strolls off to see to her other customers, leaving me alone with my best friend.
“So, who was it last night?” I ask.
“His name is Henrik and he's a personal trainer on one of the cruise ships,” she says. “I met him down at Clancy's last night. And girl, let me tell you, I'm lucky I can walk this morning. The man was not only hung like a mule, he knew how to use every damn inch of it.”
I laugh and slap her playfully on the arm. “You are such a tramp.”
“Proudly so,” she says as she pops a bit of her muffin into her mouth. “I'm telling you, Paige, you really need to come out with me one of these nights. We need to get you laid.”
“I can think of a million things I need more than that right now, thank you very much.”
Skyler cocks her head and looks at me. “You okay, hon?”
“I'm fine,” I say. “I'm just thinking about everything.”
“Everything, meaning – what?”
“With the shop,” I say. “Our favorite mayor came by again yesterday. Tried to convince me – again – to sell the shop.”
“What did you say?”
“Yet another variation of go screw yourself,” I reply. “I'm starting to run out of ways to say it.”
“So, what has you so twisted up then?”
I take a sip of my coffee and gently set the mug back down. “Do you think I'm crazy for not wanting to sell?” I ask. “Do you think I'm being stubborn just for being stubborn's sake? Is there any point to digging my heels in like I have been?”
She shrugs. “That's not for me to say, hon,” she says. “You're the only one who can answer that question.”
“Do you think I should sell?”
She sighs and gives me a slight shrug of her shoulders. Not the definitive statement I was looking for. I relay the conversation I had with Mrs. B. and when I finish, Skyler gives me a sly smile.
“Mrs. B. knows what's up,” she says. “Take that sexy ass down to the Caribbean, find you some hot, hung island man, have drinks on the beach and make sweet love all night long. Every night. Now that would be the life.”
I laugh. “That sounds more like your kind of life.”
She shrugs. “Once I'm done here in Port Safira and am ready to pack it in,” she says, “you better bet that's what I'm going to do. And if you're not already down there, I'm going to drag your sweet ass down there with me.”
I laugh, and we share a moment of comfortable silence as we sip our coffee. Skyler's always been able to roll with the punches that life throws a lot better than I have. She's more flexible and adaptable to change than I am. It's something else that I admire about her.
Skyler gives me a smile and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Mrs. B. is right, you know,” she says softly.
“About which part?”
“About all of it, silly,” she says. “But mostly about the bookstore not being the legacy your folks left. It's all the good they did in the community. Their legacy is you.”
“Yeah, well, I don't think I'm doing their legacy any favors then.”
“So, do something about it.”
“Like what?”
Skyler pops another bit of muffin into her mouth. “I don't know,” she says. “Build the shop up again. Do what they used to do and get involved with the community.”
I grimace and take another drink of my coffee. That stuff is so far out of my wheelhouse that I wouldn't even know where to begin.
“Or,” Skyler says, “sell the shop, take the money, and do something different. Honor their memory in another way.”
“Like how?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I don't know,” she replies. “That's something you'd have to figure out.”
I let out a long, frustrated breath. Everything is just so jumbled in my head right now that I don't even know where to begin sorting it all out.
“Listen,” Skyler says, squeezing my hand again. “You don't have to figure it all out by the time you finish that coffee. Think about it. This is one of those things that deserves some real thought. All I can tell you for sure is that you need to do something, hon. You just seem so – stuck. Like you don't know what to do with yourself.”
A wry smile touches my lips. “That's one way to put it.”
“Then find something to do, hon,” she says. “Figure out what's going to make you happy and go do that. If that means selling the shop and using that money to say, go back to school, so be it. Your parents would never begrudge you that and you know it.”
“No,” I say softly. “They wouldn't. I know they'd want me to be happy.”
“Damn right they would,” she says. “They'd be the first ones to tell you the shop is just a building filled with stuff.”
I nod, knowing everything that she and Mrs. Brenton said is true. Everything they said is right. I just don't know what I want, or what I want to do, just yet. I guess they're right about that too – it's something I'm going to have to figure out.
“Thanks, Sky,” I say. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”
“Probably melt into a quivering puddle of self-pity.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She slaps me on the arm and laughs. “I'm kidding, hon,” she says. “You know that.”
“I know,” I say and give her a small smile.
“So, listen,” she says. “Did you know that somebody bought the old McFarland place up on Sapphire Hill?”
I nod. “Yeah, I knew that already,” I laugh. “Where have you been?”
She shrugs. “Oh, well, probably busy with my European stud-induced multiple orgasms,” she replies. “Multiple orgasms that you can have too, you know. Henrik has plenty of hot friends onboard the ship.”
“Pass,” I say. “But, thanks for thinking of me.”
She shrugs again and smirks. “That's okay,” she says. “More for me then.”
“Have at 'em, tiger.”
“Oh, I plan on it,” she says. “Anyway, what's up with the guy on the hill? Apparently, he moved in weeks ago and nobody's seen or heard from him. He's like this mysterious old shut-in or something.”
“Yeah, town gossip isn't my thing,” I say.
“Oh, it's totally mine,” she says. “Nobody's seen the guy though. Most seem to think he's like some super old, creepy guy. Some think he's morbidly obese and can't get around, and others think he's disfigured like the Phantom of the Opera or something and doesn't want to be seen.”
“Or, maybe he's just a guy who likes his privacy.”
“It's totally weird if you ask me,” she says. “He's been living there for weeks apparently and nobody's seen him. Not even once. I bet he's got like, a lot of women chained up in some basement sex dungeon or something.”
“You say that like you're hoping for an invitation,” I say and chuckle.
“Shut up,” she laughs. “I just think it's creepy that he moves into town and yet, is never actually seen around town. People are calling him Gatsby, in case you wondered.”
“I wasn't wondering.”
It's odd. There's no doubt about that. But, I'm not one to engage in idle gossip. Besides, I already did some research on the newest member of our community. It's amazing what you can find when you Google something. I'm not going to share that information with Skyler though. She's having too much fun speculating and gossiping about all of this anyway.
Personally, I know all I that need to know about the new resident on Sapphire Hill. His name is Liam Anderson and he's a real estate developer. Just another filthy, stinking rich, predatory vulture who has come to pick the meat off the bones of my hometown.