Yes,” I say into the phone in my tiny office. Puke girl from earlier is sitting in my desk chair, spinning around and humming. “Merrick. Okay.”

“Thank you so much again,” the girl says as I hang up.

“You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure. Now stop spinning around because you’re just gonna make yourself dizzy,” I say, grabbing the back of the chair gently to make her stay still. “Your cab should be here in about five minutes, so let’s go outside.”

She squeezes out of the chair and stands up, and I’m a little embarrassed about the state of my office. Years of financial records and documents are spilling out of every filing cabinet, and there’s a stack of papers on my desk that’s higher than it should be - vendor contacts, payroll information that really should be locked up, receipts. I’d hire an assistant to get everything in order, but that’d be another salary so I have to be my own assistant, and I have to admit I’m not really that good at it.

I get her outside the building and we chat for a few minutes. It turns out we did go to the same high school, although she was five years ahead of me. I wait until her cab comes and send her on her way. When I get back inside, Mark and Elliot are still sitting at my bar, talking business I’m sure, and drinking. Carlo is behind the bar doing something on his phone.

It’s past closing time, but that doesn’t mean my work is over.

If I’d known Mark and Elliot were going to be here tonight, I’d have made sure the place was tidier, made sure the salt and pepper shakers on the little tables in the concession area were filled up, though that costs money.

They are not what I expected at all. I thought they’d be older, and certainly not as good looking.

In fact, I’m not sure that these two actually qualify as simply good looking.

They’re both downright gorgeous, though in different ways.

Elliot is reserved and more quiet. He’s the one I spoke to on the phone initially. He’s a small-town boy from here, though I never knew him growing up. He sounded mature on the phone, and even though he is several years older than I, from the way he spoke and the amount of success he’s found, I was expecting someone decades older.

It was only after meeting them tonight that I got down to looking into each of them individually in more depth. Turns out there’s no shortage of their pictures on the internet, and now I’m just relieved that I didn’t know how sexy they were before. If I’d known, I may have been too nervous to actually agree to meet them.

Even though he’s quiet and reserved, there is this deep, dark intensity behind Elliot’s eyes, something that makes me so incredibly intrigued. It’s like he has a secret in there, and even if it’s nothing, that almost makes it sexier. He has this dark confidence in his eyes and he’s more hesitant to smile, like he is judging his surroundings at a million miles a minute.

And then there’s Mark. He’s the more outgoing of the two, and he’s not afraid to say how he feels. I can tell. I haven’t met too many men quite like him. He’s a natural jokester, but there’s a gravity beneath it. He’s the kind of guy who will tell you you’ve been a bad girl on a first date and actually mean it, and be able to follow through on it.

And would it be totally crazy to admit that there’s a little bit of both of them that I am intrigued by?

Elliot’s more my type on the surface - the strong, silent type. But then, I secretly have always wanted a guy like Mark.

I swallow thickly and pour myself a glass of water behind the bar as I look over at the guys. Carlo comes over to me and puts his elbows on the bar.

“Dreamy One and Dreamy Two. Damn, you’re up to your eyeballs in men right now.”

“What?” I say, putting my glass down. I feel my stomach flip over a little and my cheeks heat when I see Mark drumming his fingers on the bar and shooting a mischievous look over at me. “I don’t think they’re dreamy.”

“Sure,” Carlo says, “and neither do I. No one would think those two are dreamy. No one would want to get lost in those swimming blue eyes, have two sets of strong, hard hands gliding over their body.”

“Carlo!” I say, swatting him with a towel from the bar. “They are here on business only. And barely even that.”

“Business?” Carlo says. “I didn’t know our tiny part of the island attracted titans of industry.”

It’s now that I’m realizing I may have accidentally let the cat out of the bag about meeting with them.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” I say, “but they’re here to meet with me. I have an appointment with them first thing tomorrow morning. They just kind of showed up here tonight. I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to worry you. I haven’t made any decisions yet, and I just want to hear what they have to say.”

“It’s okay,” Carlo sighs, “no offense, but we all knew this day was coming. And really, it’d be better for you to sell than to just shut down. I hope they’re interested, for all our sake.”

“Yeah, the absolute last thing I want is to shut down,” I say, “I want to see what my options are while there’s still hope to turn the ship around.”

“I know you’ll make the right choice. Now,” Carlo says, “will you choose Dreamy One or Dreamy Two?”

“Stop that,” I say, laughing.

“Right, who says you have to choose?”

“Okay smart guy, someone’s had too many beers for one night.”

Carlo knocks me softly on the hip and grabs the towel from me.

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here,” he says, starting to wipe down the bar. “Go home, and you’ll be fresh for your meeting.”

“Really?” I say, “I could use the rest of the night off.”

“You act like having two hours to yourself is a night off. That’s cute.”

“Thank you, thank you. Their drinks are on the house,” I say, motioning to Mark and Elliot.

Carlo nods and shoos me away, smiling as I thank him again.

I go over to Mark and Elliot to say goodnight.

“Please forgive me for cutting out early,” I say, “but you two stay until Carlo kicks you out. I have a meeting tomorrow and I have to be sharp. You two party animals can stay out all night if you want.”

Mark puts his hand out to shake mine, and I feel a spark run straight through my body at his touch.

“It was lovely to meet you,” he says, “and good luck with your meeting tomorrow. Don’t let anyone bend you over and screw you in your negotiations.”

I feel my eyes widen at his joke, and my insides fill with butterflies. His voice is dark and smooth, and even though he is playing around with me, his words fill me with heat.

“Don’t let him scare you,” Elliot says, taking a sip of his drink, “he talks to everyone like that. He thinks of it as a tactic for getting the upper hand.”

“It was very nice to meet both of you,” I say, “and I look forward to our meeting tomorrow. If you need anything, please let Carlo know.”

I turn to walk away from them, and when I’m a few steps away, I look back over my shoulder. I don’t know why, but I do, and when I look, they are both still watching me. They wave and I raise my hand in the air to wave back at them, and I feel myself bite my lip and smile as I turn back around.

Carlo is right. I am in dangerous territory right now, and I have to keep the ship on course.

I get outside, and the warm spring night envelopes me. It’s been a brutal winter, but it’s transitioned quickly to spring.

I cross the parking lot and consider what I’m doing. Carlo didn’t seem at all upset about the prospect of my selling the alley, and he’s right - it’s obvious that we aren’t doing as well as we have in the past, or as well as we should be. I want to protect people too often, and the situation might be more out of my control than I initially wanted to admit to myself.

I resolve to go into the meeting with Mark and Elliot tomorrow with open ears and an open mind. After all, I did agree to meet with them.

I finally get to my car all the way on the other side of the parking lot, where I park every day next to the big old oak tree where my mom and dad installed a wooden swing. It was my spot, and even though it rotted and fell down years ago, you can still see where my feet dragged on the ground and where the grass never really grew back right. Even though the swing is gone, you can still see where it was from the way its surroundings changed, if just subtly.

Getting my keys out, I look back at the bowling alley. There’s so much more we could do with it, but I feel tired and exasperated. I don’t have the energy or even the know-how to be able to turn it around. I know what I know - dealing with vendors, bookkeeping, customer service. I don’t know anything about advertising or licensing, and though I could have hired those tasks out, it just seems too late for that. It seems as though that ship has sailed, and now I don’t have enough lifeboats for everyone to escape the sinking boat we are on.

The exterior is old and the big sign showing the name - The Gutter - is peeling and in need of a good power wash. Maybe I should just get a new sign and update the name while I’m at it. The name sounded better in the nineties and two-thousands; it was gritty and a little naughty sounding, and it brought to mind late nights of double entendres and inside jokes. Now, in the fully digital age, it just sounds old.

Replacing the sign, though - that would cost money.

Inside my car, I stick the key in the ignition and sigh, and the engine doesn’t turn over at first. That’s normal. It’s an old car, and after the winter we’ve had, it’s been working double duty to get me from point A to point B, and I’ve been very careful to not take it off the well-worn path. But as I keep turning the key carefully and with enough force to try to make something happen, it seems obvious something’s wrong. Whether the battery’s dead or the thing has simply outlived its normal lifespan, the fact is that it looks like I have to add “fix car” to my ever-growing list of expenses.

Just my luck. As I get out and slam the door behind me, I see a car’s headlights sweeping across the ground as it slowly drives past me.

It’s a black town car, sleek and simple. It’s not ostentatious, but it is classy. Sometimes we have limos come through here when teen girls have their Sweet 16s and want something a little fancy, but that’s not this. The car inches toward the front entrance of the alley and I see Mark and Elliot come out of the building, realizing this must be their car.

I should have guessed they’d have a driver. The only other car in the parking lot right now is Carlo’s, and I shouldn’t have counted on a duo of sexy finance hotshots calling up a cab company or ordering an Uber like one of us plebs.

The pair get into the back of the car, and they look so excited and happy to be here. I wish some of their enthusiasm would rub off on me right now.

Instead of sharing in their excitement, I shove my hands into my pockets and start out of the parking lot, over a small strip of grass next to it, and start walking.

We might not be the big City, but we are the country by name only. We still have sidewalks, and street lamps, and all that good stuff, and the road is a wide, four-lane street that funnels into a small strip of shops and boutiques after about a quarter mile or so. I live just beyond that little commercial strip, so I start my walk.

I could wait for Carlo to finish up and grab a ride from him, but that would defeat the purpose of the nice gift he gave me by telling me to leave early.

And anyway, it’s a good opportunity to clear my mind.

I start my walk, wondering what my parents would think of how I’ve maintained their legacy. They purchased the bowling alley in the seventies. My mom was an absolute bowling enthusiast, ranked state- and nation-wide on her high school team, and my dad always wanted to be a business owner. When the opportunity presented itself, then, they jumped at the chance to purchase the property. The old owner had decided to sell and retire to Florida, and back then running and maintaining a small business was much less expensive than it is now.

I’m not able to get very far before I see Mark and Elliot’s car pull up beside me.

“Scarlett, get in the car,” Mark says, sticking his elbow out the window.

“Oh,” I say, waving them on, “it’s okay. I’m not far. I don’t want to make you go out of your way.”

“Don’t be silly,” he says, “I insist.”

Well, if he insists.

The door opens as the window rolls up and I walk over, getting into the car as Mark scoots over to sit in the middle.

“How long have you guys had a driver?” I ask as I settle into the warm, cozy backseat. “Hello,” I say to the driver.

He nods at me in the rearview mirror and I smile at him.

“That’s Simmons. We don’t really utilize him that often,” Elliot says, “when we go to the West Coast we just drive ourselves around. If we’re in DC or Philly, we’ll take him with us. But he’s probably been with us for about three years.”

“When you’re able to get places quickly and efficiently, it really frees you up to be able to focus on what you’re gonna do when you get there,” Mark adds. “What about you? Do you always walk to and from work?”

“Oh, no,” I say, “I just had some car trouble. Happen to see that rusted out jalopy back there? That’s mine.”

“We will pick you up tomorrow for the meeting,” Elliot says as Simmons nods.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I say, “I can just walk. I like walking. My dad used to tell me walking is like putting money in the bank.”

“Putting money in the bank is like putting money in the bank,” Mark says, flashing me his oh-so-sexy smile and knocking the back of his hand against my knee.

I don’t know if he did it on purpose, but I swallow hard and look out the window, because that little touch made me feel butterflies in my belly.

Still, I can’t help a little smile pulling across my lips.

But of course I don’t want him to see.

“Where are we taking you?” Mark says.

“I live just past the main drag up here,” I say, tipping my chin forward and looking out the front window. “I live upstairs from a bakery, actually, in a studio apartment.”

“So it’s just you by yourself there?” Mark asks inquisitively.

“That’s right,” I reply. “Just me and the aroma of freshly baking bread.”

“Scarlett, I was meaning to ask you something,” Elliot says, moving in his seat to look at me, “what do you think about how this area has changed? I don’t think I mentioned it on the phone the other day, but I’m actually from here too.”

“Oh wow,” I say, “I didn’t realize that. I don’t have to tell you it’s changed a lot. But I think it’s good and bad, like anything. It’s good that there are more jobs here and there are industries there weren’t before, but then at the same time some of the old mom and pop places have been forced out. It’s a trade-off.”

“I know what you mean,” Elliot says thoughtfully. “My parents owned a diner here and they had to eventually retire early because they didn’t own the land the diner was on and the owner could get more renting it out to a big chain restaurant. We didn’t blame him or anything. I mean, I honestly would have done the same thing.”

“I think I know what diner you’re talking about,” I say, leaning forward, “are you talking about Pop? I remember when that place closed down and everyone was so sad.”

“That’s the one,” he says.

I smile, but part of me feels disappointed. It’s nice to reminisce with someone about the good old days, but Elliot said he would have done the same thing his parents’ landlord did when they were forced to shut down the diner.

I hope this isn’t a harbinger of things to come. If it is, I don’t know how I’ll be able to enter a deal with him and Mark with a good conscience. I’ve had the opportunity to sell to big developers, and I’ve demurred every time. The only reason I’m meeting with Mark and Elliot is because I thought they’d be different, because Elliot assured me he was interested in keeping the property for its original use - a place where people can come and just have fun. We don’t need another corporate, faceless chain restaurant. Trust me, I love those chain restaurants, but don’t we want something classic too?

Maybe that’s part of why I’ve been so hesitant to face the facts about the alley.

“I loved that diner,” I say, smiling at Elliot. “You guys had the best nacho fries.”

“Nacho fries?” Mark asks, smirking.

“Yeah,” I say, “it’s like when you have nachos, but it’s fries instead of chips.”

“Maybe I can whip you up a batch of the secret family recipe nacho fries some time,” Elliot says, glancing over at me with a smile.

“Let me guess,” Mark says, “fries, cheese, sour cream, diced tomatoes?”

“And ranch dressing,” I say, “that’s the secret ingredient. Gives them a little bit of zing.”

“You figured it out,” Elliot says with a chuckle, “that’s indeed the secret ingredient.”

The car hums along the road as we pass through the main strip.

“We have our temporary offices here,” Mark says, pointing out the window at an old storefront. “We have a few other investment opportunities out here in addition to yours, and we thought it would be good to have the space out here to work from.”

“Oh!” I say, peering out the window past the guys, “that’s where my favorite thrift shop in high school was. God, I loved that place. I got my Betsey Johnson prom dress there for like twenty bucks.”

“Would you like to see the space?” Mark asks.

“Um, yes I would!” I say, smiling brightly.

The driver pulls over to the side of the road, and the three of us get out of the car quietly.

“I remember this place so well,” I say wistfully, “my mom used to bring me here for new clothes at the end of every summer. I mean, they weren’t new exactly, they were second-hand.”

I suddenly feel very aware of the fact that the men in front of me are wearing suits that cost more than all the clothing in my closet combined.

“It’s not like we were poor or anything,” I continue. “But like I said, Betsey Johnson for twenty bucks. I mean, how can you say no to that?”

“They may not have been new per se, but they were new to you,” Elliot says, unlocking the door.

We step into the space, and I marvel at how it’s changed. It’s utterly unrecognizable. Gone are the rows of gently-worn dresses organized by color hanging on simple racks on the left. There’s no more tables with stacks of graphic t’s and old band shirts.

Instead, the place has been stripped down and emptied.

“Looks a little different, huh?” Mark says, stepping into the middle of the room.

I have to say he looks good here. The crisp lines of his sharp suit and his broad chest, complimented perfectly by his sexy smile and jaw that could cut glass are all that I can focus on in the big, empty room.

“Yeah, definitely,” I say, walking past him to the back wall. As I brush past him, I feel a tingle up my spine and breathe him in. “There used to be a whole display of old cowboy boots back here!”

The men come up on either side of me as I allow my hand to reach out and touch the red brick wall.

“Ugh, can’t wait to get that covered up,” Mark says.

I feel myself frown as I turn around to face them.

“Cover it up?” I ask. “Why would you do that? You don’t think it looks cool?”

“Mark’s style is a little bit more clean and precise than this. You might even call it clinical. But I’ll try to talk some sense into him,” Elliot says with a smile.

“It’s not my office,” I say, crossing my arms, “so I don’t get a vote. But if I did get a vote, I’d say you should leave the exposed brick. I think it’s nice. I think it adds character.”

I put my hand on the wall again and think about all the memories I have of this place, back when it was the thrift shop. I was able to find a classic Missoni dress here, and the legendary purple and black Betsey Johnson, and when my high school had their annual cowboys and spurs dance, I picked up a pair of genuine leather cowboy boots here that I paired with a red bandana around my neck.

I still have those things, of course, buried deep in the back of my closet. It just makes me sad that no one else will be able to come here again and shop for things that already have history.

I feel Mark and Elliot behind me as I’m pulled out of my silly reverie. I can sense them coming a bit closer to me, and they fill up the space behind me, sucking the air out of the big room.

And then Mark’s hand covers mine on the wall, and he slips his fingers through mine.

I close my eyes and feel my stomach erupt in a flurry of butterflies.