Page 48 of Coffee Shop Girl
Steven’s nose wrinkled. “How?”
Yeah, I wanted to say.How? She’d definitely left something out on purpose. A tangled web, this one.
She swallowed hard, her throat working. “The bike.”
His eyes widened. “Your father’s motorcycle.”
“Yes.”
“I know the one.” He immediately straightened. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he said it was a Christmas miracle he’d found it and that the gods of Christmas didn’t mess around, so you didn’t want to anger them.”
The corners of my lips twitched. I was sad I’d never meet her dad.
“I still have it.”
“What can you get for it?”
“At least ten thousand. Dad bought it new in December, so it’s not yet a year old. He rarely drove it this winter. I’ve only put a few hundred miles on it so far. If I can do that, will you allow me some extra grace in the upcoming months ... if it’s needed?”
For the first time, a flicker of humanity showed in Steven’s face. “Are you really ready to give that up for this shop? You may be sinking all this money into something doomed to fail, and giving up parts of your father with it, Bethany.”
She hesitated for half a breath.
“Yes.”
“Then ... yes. I’ll take that as a measure of good faith. Or desperation. It at least proves how serious you are, if nothing else. You still have interest on the line of credit, and some fees on the back payments, but we can waive those for a later date. You truly believe this will work?”
“Yes.”
All business now, he nodded. “Great. Get me the money, and we can talk about dropping your payments by five hundred dollars, extending your credit due date by a year, and giving you an additional six months to prove the changes will work.”
“Thank you.” She infused just the right amount of grace with confidence. “I appreciate the flexibility.”
He waved a hand. “Shoot me a monthly email report so I can track things as they happen, and then we’ll discuss payments as they come. You have a lot to prove.”
17
Bethany
Exactly ten steps outside the bank, I squealed, spun, and threw my arms around Maverick. He caught me with calloused hands, preventing us both from falling.
Seconds later, I realized my massive mistake. His body. My arms. His grip. Heat swelled between us like a nuclear explosion. Forcing myself to push away and create distance, I shot him a grin, sliding my aviators over my eyes as if I did this every day.
As if I wasn’t absolutely starving for a protective touch.
“We did it!” I cried, sounding only half-strangled.
He blinked, no doubt recovering from the shock of finding a client in his arms. Couldn’t have been too traumatized, because he managed a smile. “No,youdid it.”
“That was...”
My hands shook, even though the rush had evaporated within minutes of explaining Maverick’s plan. No,ourplan. I’d made suggestions last night that he’d immediately adopted. It almost felt within my fingertips. Entirely possible. At the very least, I knew what todoto make this more likely.
And then?
Real estate license.
“Now,” Maverick said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his khakis, “you have to sell the bike.”
