Page 75 of The Now in Forever
Across the hall is the bedroom. It has a large window with no curtains at the moment. And the view is amazing. It looks right out onto the beach and the ocean. I run my hand along the windowsill. A writing desk would fit perfectly right here.
Kyle clears his throat, announcing his presence in the room.
I swallow hard, nervous to ask, but I have to know. If it’s out of my price range, I can move on, but it’ll be hard to put this place out of my mind. “How much do they want?”
His smile is wide, and the number he says freezes me to my spot.
“Really?”
He nods. “Not sure what your price range is, but the family is very motivated to sell. It’s been on the market for a quite a few years already.”
My lips feel numb. I could do this. Once the house money comes in and with maybe a small loan, I could live here. Fix it up. Run the shop. My smile grows as it dawns on me exactly what I’ll name it. If I decide to do this.
My watch alerts me to a text, and my stomach drops. Shit. I never texted Ed back after he sent that photo this morning. I pull out my phone.
Kyle says, “I have to get going. My shift starts soon at the bar.”
“Right. Right.” I shove my phone into my back pocket. “Thank you for taking the time to show me this place.”
“Sure. No trouble.” He hands me a business card. “This is my buddy handling the sale.”
“Great.”
Then he hands me another card. “This is the contact info for the FFBIF—the Fortune Falls Business Improvement Foundation. They’rea group that helps mentor local business owners. They set up a table every Wednesday at the library. Might help if you have questions.”
I look down at the card, running my fingers over the thick cardstock. “This is amazing. Thanks.”
Walking out, I soak in every detail I can about the place, mentally making notes. On the sidewalk, I pull out my phone and take another picture.
Kyle’s watching me. “Are you seriously thinking of putting in an offer?”
I purse my lips to the side. Am I? It feels right. It’s been my dream to own my own bookstore since I was a kid. But what would pursuing it cost me? Ed doesn’t want to live here, that’s for sure. We’re not really at the stage of talking about our future together—but where does that leave me? I need to make some crucial decisions about my life with or without his input.
I sigh. “I’m not sure yet.”
CHAPTER 19
FRIDAY, JULY 12TH
All week, I've been trying, without much success, to write. Today is no different. This morning and afternoon, I’ve toiled away, butt in chair, and I have only a handful of words to show for it.
It’s been more of a distraction than anything else. My brain feels heavy with thoughts of Ed and the bookstore. I pick up my phone to look up a better word to use but find myself on Instagram once again, looking at Ed’s feed. I joined Monday night, thinking if I do I open my own bookstore, it’s going to need an online presence. It seems that I’m always on it now. The last picture Ed posted was on Sunday of a fancy schmancy party at an even fancier schmancier house with a massive aquamarine pool with a waterfall. A goddamn waterfall. Is it a party at the Playboy mansion or something? Or maybe all the pools in LA look like that. How would I know?
I texted him back as soon as I left the meeting with Kyle. When he didn’t text back right away, I lay on my bed and Googled “How to open a bookstore.”
The first thing I need, according to the internet, is money. Thanks to the complete and utter destruction of my previous dream life, I’ll have that soon. I’m not quite sure it’s sufficient, though. I need the down payment and enough for the mortgage each month. I’ll alsoneed some new inventory and to fix the place up. Definitely paint the porch. The house itself should be fine for a couple more years.
I made a list of all the things I need and researched a ballpark figure of the expenses involved. Then on Wednesday, I spoke with one of the very helpful people from the FFBIF. While I can wrap my head around the actual steps involved in making this dream a reality, I can’t quite come to terms with the magnitude of the decision yet.
Ed’s texted a few more times over the week, but honestly, it all felt removed. He’s supposed to FaceTime me tonight at 5:30, which at the moment feels like centuries away. I throw my phone at the bed and turn back to my laptop.
Come on. I can do this. If I write a novel that’s a success, I can do it anywhere and not be tied down to one place. But wouldn’t it be nice to be a part of the community? To have a business I’m proud of? To have a home?
I can have a home and write my own best-selling literary fucking masterpiece that will sell a million copies. The film rights will sell. Greta Gerwig will direct, and we’ll write the screenplay together and also become best friends. Ooh, she’ll join our book club, but none of this can happen without the damn book.
Sam looks at June like the first sunny day after endless clouds, like a soft bed after a hard day’s work, like a Big Mac after a green juice cleanse.
A Big Mac? I close my laptop with a little more force than necessary.Garbage.Greta won’t direct a Big Mac–loving hero trapped in a book. Plus, Sam wouldn’t even know about Big Macs or juice cleanses. Food. Maybe I just need some food. I must be hungry if I’m waxing poetic about Mickey D’s.
