Page 50 of Fifty-Fifty

The house is quiet, making me think that everyone is still asleep or not here altogether.

I don’t hear Mac’s happy chatter in the kitchen or family room. I don’t see her head full of brown curls racing through the entryway. I don’t feel her presence like I’ve come to expect.

And don’t even get me started on her mama.

I smile as the Southern term enters my thoughts. Mama. She’s a great mama. A great business owner. A great lover. A great person in general.

And I’m letting her go.

For what? For a damn business venture?

My knuckles tighten around my duffle bag as I take the last few steps to the front door.

I don’t care about the guys. They can check out on their own. I don’t think I can handle another second in this house without crumbling to the floor and begging for Beau’s forgiveness.

I can’t do that.

Holding my breath, I reach for the handle before twisting it slowly and stepping outside.

The air is brisk as it hits me square in the face.

“Shit, that’s cold,” I mumble to myself before pulling my jacket tighter around my chest and rushing to my old beat up truck.

Sliding inside, I start the engine and my cell starts to ring.

When I see Mr. Jenkins’ name flash across the screen, I grimace.

Shouldn’t I be feeling an ounce of excitement at the prospect of his call?

Instead, all I feel is regret.

I swallow before swiping my finger across the screen and accepting his call.

“Yeah?” I answer with my gruff voice.

“Why hello, Mr. Jamison. I received a call from Ms. Williams this mornin’. It seems y'all decided to sell the inn. Is that right?”

I drop my head back against the headrest. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

“And you’re all right with that?” he probes.

Not really.

“Yeah.”

“That’s interestin’. Last I heard, the inn was doin’ quite well for itself. Even bringin’ in more than when Jay was runnin’ the place,” Mr. Jenkins continues.

I shift in my seat. “Yeah. Well, unfortunately I don’t have the time to see it through before opening up my own shop, so…”

“So?”

I huff a sigh of indignation. “Is there a reason you’re calling, Mr. Jenkins?”

The sound of him shuffling papers comes through the speakers. “Yes. Of course. I need y'all to come down and sign a few documents to get the ball rollin’. Hire a realtor, a photographer, that sort of thing.”

I put my truck into reverse before putting my hand on the passenger headrest, looking over my shoulder, and backing out to the street.

“On my way.” I end the call before he has a chance to say anything else.

---