Page 12 of A Gingerbread Romance

Greta’s stomach turned. What were they going to require?

And how could Jonathan not even look at her? They’d spent the evening together, gazing into each other’s eyes and sharing personal stories, and he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye?

“Your rent is going to be increased if you’d like to stay in the building.”

Greta blew a breath through her nose. The scoundrel. Coming in here, to the place his own brothers called home, no less, and helping some big-city out-of-towners raise the cost of rent so exorbitantly that the locals couldn’t even afford to stay in business.

She glared at him.

But she inhaled deeply, willing herself to stay calm as Jonathan went on. Exactly how much of an increase were they talking? Maybe the bakery could somehow afford it?

Her lease was up on the fifth of March, and Silvio hadn’t raised the rent in about two years, if memory served. He was a long-time resident of New Haven Falls, and his family had, in fact, owned the building for as long as he’d rented it to Greta’s family for the bakery.

Which had been decades. Eight decades. The Smithfield was a landmark.

Greta couldnotmove the store.

Anyway, where would she go? The Smithfield sat in a prime spot. Their location was everything, where vital foot traffic brought in more than half the daily business. She wasn’t aware of any suitable open locations downtown, either, especially one situated so close to the square, where the most foot traffic could be found.

No wonder Brett and Elaine wanted it.

Moreover, the people of New Haven Falls widely recommended their scones. And their bread. And their cookies. The place had history. Important history!

Greta’s heart was racing.

“The first building is already in escrow,” the other real estate agent explained. “It’s scheduled to change hands officially, if all goes well, on the first of January.”

Greta shot another look at Silvio, who stared at the tabletop. They’d probably undercut him. Made up some reason he couldn’t afford to own it anymore. Small-time, family-owned property couldn’t compete with big corporate-owned entities. Greta wondered if he'd minded selling, or had he felt like he’d hit the lottery? She hoped desperately that they paid him well for it.

She studied the man named Brett, whose face bore a satisfied smirk as the other agent handed the floor over to him. Greta suddenly felt her own forehead sweating. She pursed her lips, waiting for him to go into detail about her building.

Maybe it wouldn’t be quite as bad as she’d been expecting. Maybe she could afford it? She swallowed.

But the story was almost the same. Brett and Elaine didn’t have other tenants lined up to take their places yet if Greta and Lily didn’t like the terms of the new lease, but if they wanted to stay, their rents would increase when their leases ended. The terms hadn’t been arranged yet, but they offered an estimate of what she and Lily could expect.

Greta inhaled sharply at the rough dollar figure. The Smithfield didn’t have that kind of money, if that’s how much it was going to be. Nor had Jean put away anything except a retirement account for herself.

Plus, the business wasn’t doing well enough lately to afford any of the countless other increases she was already battling. Greta’s mind began to tailspin.

Several long moments later, the meeting concluded, and everyone rose to their feet. A few supportive words were exchanged among the other tenants, but Greta stayed silent.

Elaine and Brett stopped to chat with Silvio, but Greta had heard enough. She needed out.

Her pulse pounded in her throat as she made for the door, not waiting to shake anyone’s hands or to speak to Jonathan, even though he’d called her name as she’d breezed by.

Greta needed fresh air. Right now.

When she reached the double glass paneled doors, she pushed them wide.

Lily and Nancy and Lennie would understand if she didn’t stop to chat. She was certain they’d be seething—or crying inside—by now, too.

It only took her another thirty seconds to reach the ground floor, where she bolted out onto the sidewalk.

FOUR

Jonathan’s breath hitched as Greta walked out. He felt almost sick. She looked as though she never wanted to speak to him again.

But he shook Lily the accountant’s hand and tried to answer as she asked questions. “I can get back to you on that,” he heard himself saying.

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