“How did you know?” she asked.
“I didn’t?” I responded.
“These are my absolute favorite, ever since I was little,” she said, tearing off a piece and tossing it into her mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to revel in the memories before opening them and looking at me with a look of pure delight.
“That much, huh?” I asked.
“Yes. When I was little,” she said, scooting back to sit up straighter, “these were the absolute epitome of high-class breakfast. Mom and I would go out to this little restaurant for brunch once a month, and it was always full of fancy ladies in big hats, and I just felt so grown-up. I always wore a dress and gloves and fancy shoes that clicked when I walked, and they had these beautiful, wonderful chocolate croissants.
“Mama used to say that ladies didn’t overeat and that brunch was as much for getting together with the girls as it was for eating. I did not subscribe to that theory, though. I just wanted to shove as many of these in my face as possible. I remember one time, she got so mad because I put like six of them in my purse, and the chocolate melted by the time we got home. Though, after that, she let me have as many of them as I wanted.”
I sat back on the bed and listened to her as she went into detail about her family, and how her mother spoiled her with chocolate croissants at every birthday, and every big day of her life. They were her comfort food, and I knew that somewhere it probably meant a lot for her to be having one with me. I had to shake that off, though.
Getting wrapped up in her, which was absolutely what I was doing, was not going to work out for either one of us. As much as I loved learning about her and her past, and the connection that was growing between us sparkled with life and energy that felt deep, I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to survive. Not once we got back home. Once we settled into the office again, with all the rules and regulations, and worst of all, all the investors and their pesky, prying gossiping, our connection would likely fizzle. What it would become after that, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think this was a genie that could be put back in the bottle, as it were.
But that was a conversation for another day. Right then, I just wanted to listen to her ramble and eat good food and drink the surprisingly good coffee. When we were all wrapped up, I checked the time and noticed I was already running a little late. I kissed her cheek, kicking myself for falling into a routine that seemed so familiar, and headed out. The last thing I saw before I shut the door was her bending over to pick up her clothes off the floor as she prepared for a shower, her cute ass poking out of the bottom of my shirt, and my stomach clenched. It took a lot of willpower to shut that door.
The first meeting was painless, just a formality with the business offices in the city, getting licenses transferred from one address to the other, and making sure the mail and other requisite paperwork would be sent that direction. A hold was placed on all mail for a week until the sale went through, and I left for the meeting with the Realtor and my lender at the bank.
When I got there, I noticed the realtor I had been working with the day before had been either replaced or had quit. Instead, a portly gentleman, around my age was waiting on me. He held out his hand as I approached.
“Tom Anderson?” he asked, the morning sun making him sweat a little, despite the chill in the air.
“Yes? You are?” I asked.
“Seth, Seth Ambrose,” he said. “You were working with one of my junior realtors yesterday, but I have decided to take on your case.”
“Oh? Why is that?” I asked, thinking back to the intense handshake and veiled threat I made to the last guy.
“That particular property is of rather high demand,” Ambrose said, and I bristled. I prepared for the new, higher, sales pitch. “Considering that fact, I looked into your situation, and I told the other interested parties that the property was already sold. I know you left with some ambiguity yesterday, but I wanted to meet you here and let you know that all that confusion is gone, as far as I’m concerned.”
“And the price?” I asked.
“What about it?” Ambrose asked, his eyebrow rising.
“It hasn’t gone up?”
Seth Ambrose sighed and looked up at me from crumpled eyebrows at the center of his wide face. “I am truly sorry for any behavior you may have witnessed from our firm before now, Mr. Anderson. No, the price has not changed. If you haven’t changed your mind, this is your property to buy.”
I nodded and we went inside. As the meeting with my lender went on, it looked rather good. The paperwork would get finalized within the next few days, and the realtor would be able to take the cash upon my final approval of the deal. All that was left was time. I left the meeting feeling considerably better about the prospects and decided to use that positivity to knock something out of the way that might have been petty, but would be the icing on the cake of the day.
I drove down to where the old bar had been, the smoke long gone, and nothing left now but police tape and burned, broken cement. I parked in my old spot anyway and got out, taking a long walk around it as I made my way down the street. I had a destination in mind and wanted to walk there, playing out what I was going to say when I arrived. I pulled up my phone and dialed up Jordan’s number, just in case. If I needed it, I could just hit the Call button, and I knew he would know where to go. By sound alone, he would figure it out.
The door to Danny’s bar was set open slightly, letting a stream of warm air out where it was cracked open. It was dumb, letting the energy run like that, but it seemed like the door was stuck that way. I opened it fully and stepped inside, standing there a moment in the doorway to let my eyes adjust to the darkness.
When they finally did, I saw that the bar was mostly empty. The bouncer’s chair was vacant, and most of the seats at the bar were similarly unoccupied. One or two booths had someone casually eating a greasy lunch, and there was one old man who looked permanently glued to the barstool furthest from the door, his red trucker hat pulled down over his eyes as he stared forlornly into his beer.
A head popped up from below the bar and soured when the eyes settled on me. I walked up to the bar, very pointedly not sitting on a stool, but standing alone at an empty end. Danny walked up to me, a towel slung over his left shoulder as he sighed angrily.
“The fuck do you want?” he asked gruffly as he got close.
“A beer,” I said. “Something dark.”
“I don’t do fancy shit. I got one porter. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine,” I said, sitting at the stool. He brought it over, slamming it a little harder than he needed to, and foam fell over the side.
“Where are your troublemaking brothers?” he asked, looking around the bar. “You ain’t so intimidating by yourself.”
I laughed over the beer and took a deep sip. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t terrible, either.
“I just wanted a beer, Danny. And to ask you one question,” I said.
I took another long pull of the beer, draining the mug easily.
“What?” Danny asked.
“How much do you want?”
“For what?” Danny asked. “The beer?”
“For this shithole,” I said, putting the mug down. His face turned to stone, and he leaned on the bar with both hands.