Page 65 of One Room Vacancy
“The bar. Gabe said I should buy it.” I laugh, but it comes out thin and uneven. “Like it’s that simple. Like I could just slap my name on the deed and suddenly I’m qualified to run a business.”
Wes doesn’t laugh. He just tilts his head. “Okay…but why is that crazy?”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “You’ve been managing half the place for a while now without the title. You know the staff, the regulars, the vendors. You practically run the calendar and the inventory. If anyone knows how that bar works, it’s you.”
“But I’ve never owned anything like that. I don’t know how to do taxes or…hire an accountant or whatever.”
“Neither did Harry when he started. He figured it out.”
“Yeah, well, Harry’s not me.”
Wes gives me a look. “No, he’s not. You’re better with people. You give a shit when someone’s having a bad day. You catch things he misses.”
I shake my head. “Wes…”
“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. I’m saying it’s not insane. Not even a little.”
I look down at my coffee. My hands are trembling just a little.
“I thought you’d say it was a terrible idea,” I admit.
Wes goes still. “Why would you think that?”
“Because…” I pause, struggling to find the words. “Because I’ve never stuck with anything. Because every time I do, it feels like I disappoint someone. Usually you.”
His brow furrows sharply. “Sage?—”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” I cut in gently. “But when you’d get that look—like you were waiting for me to crash and burn, or when you’d offer to cover rent and then follow it with advice I never asked for…it always felt like you were waiting for me to grow up. Like I wasn’t enough the way I was.”
He leans back, jaw tight. But not defensive. Just…hurt. On my behalf.
“I thought I was helping,” he says finally. “Trying to keep you safe. I thought you’d get sick of bouncing around and one day want something solid. I didn’t realize I was part of the reason you never let yourself believe you already had it in you.”
His voice is low, raw with guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he adds. “I should’ve told you a long time ago that I was proud of you.”
That undoes me a little. I look away, blinking fast.
Wes nudges my foot with his. “You’re not a screw-up, Sage. You’ve always been the brave one. You just haven’t had anyone back you when it really counted. So if this is what you want—the bar, the risk—I’ll back you. All the way.”
My throat closes around a lump. “But what if I fail?” I whisper. “What if I screw it up, and that’s it—that’s Mom’s legacy down the drain?”
His expression shifts again, softer this time. Tired in the way grief never fully stops being.
“We both know where the money would come from,” I add, voice barely above a breath. “I’ve never touched it. Not for anything. Not even when I really could’ve used it. Because I didn’t want to waste it on something that wouldn’t last.”
Wes exhales, steady and long. He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “That money isn’t her legacy.”
I blink at him.
“You are.”
My heart stutters.
“She didn’t leave it behind so you could be afraid of it,” he says. “She left it because she wanted you to have something to build on. To believe in yourself when everything else felt uncertain.”
