Page 26 of The One I Hate
“Excuse me. Can I speak to the owner?”
The question I just overheard makes me sit a little straighter. Because who is asking that question? Mona is the owner.Everyone in town knows Mona is the owner. So who is this outsider? And why is he asking who the owner is?
I turn my head to get a look at this stranger, only to realize it’s my college beer pong partner.
“I am,” I say as I stand up. “To buy this place you’d need a million dollars cash, Nashville Fury season tickets, and to be able to sing ‘Rocky Top’ at my beck and call.”
I’m greeted with a laugh and a shake of the head. “The million and the season tickets I can do. But no one wants to hear me sing. Ever.”
I smile as I reach for Emmett’s hand, which he returns before we pull each other into a back-slapping hug.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I sit back down as Emmett takes a seat next to me. “Mona! Get this guy a coffee.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he says.
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I was going to. Promise. Just had to do a little work first.”
Emmett is one of the more standup guys I’ve met in my life. We were roommates our freshman year of college and remained friends throughout since we were both business majors. We hung out a good amount, but since he wasn’t in my fraternity—and in those days I thought Greek life wasthelife—it wasn’t a regular thing. But when we did, it was always a damn good time.
We lost touch after graduation—I moved back to Rolling Hills, and he got a job in Nashville. Considering I went on to get my real estate license and he started working for a development company as a property manager, our paths should have crossed more than they did. Despite living an hour apart, we rarely saw each other.
That was until about a month ago, when all my friends were out of town and I was bored. Wes suggested I give him a call, and I’m glad I did. We might not have seen each other in years, but we picked up right where we left off.
“Speaking of not calling,” Emmett says. “I thought we were supposed to meet up last week when you were up my way. What happened?”
Flashes of a naked Charlie run through my mind. Because yes, I was supposed to meet Emmett, but I got drunk instead. Considering what that led to, I can’t be mad about it. “Got tied up.”
He snickers. “I’m sure you did.”
“Enough about me. What kind of business brings you down here? There isn’t a property available for sale, that I can assure you.”
I know this because every time a piece of Rolling Hills real estate hits the market, I’m usually the one who buys it, or finds someone to buy it. Houses, businesses, empty land that one day I’ll develop. Hell, I even have a stake in my goddaughter’s lemonade stand.
“Technically you’re right,” he says. “But there’s the vacant storefront attached to this building that my boss heard might go up for sale. I was told to come down here and talk to the owner. See if they were really thinking about it, and to see if they were interested in selling to us.”
“Ha!” I laugh, shaking my head. “Good luck.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
As if on cue, Mona comes over with a pot of coffee.
“Mona, this is Emmett, my old college roommate. Emmett, meet Mona, the woman who makes the best french toast in all the land and the owner of said building.”
“A pleasure.”
The two extend their hands. “Pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”
Oh shit, he’s turning on the Southern charm. I’ve lived in Tennessee for nearly all of my life and to this day I’ve never met anyone who has as thick of a drawl as Emmett Collins.
“Well aren’t you a cold drink of water on a hot summer’s day,” Mona says, falling for it hook, line, and sinker.
“Mona! Quit flirting with my friend! I’m sitting right here. And I’d like to point out that I professed my love for you not even ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says as Emmett gives her a wink. “You’re old news, buddy.”
Rude.
