Page 28 of The One I Hate
“Sure.”
Excuse me, what?
I look over to her and Emmett, french toast dangling from the corner of my mouth, in complete shock. I’m dumbfounded. Perplexed. Flabbergasted. Flummoxed.
“Well, great,” Emmett begins before I throw my hands up.
“What!?” I yell. “You’re interested? You’ve always told me no!”
Mona shrugs. “You haven’t asked in a while. He asked.”
Oh, this woman and her delicious french toast…
“Mona!”
“Simon!”
“I…” I don’t know what else I was going to say, because I can’t think.
No. This can’t happen. She can’t sell to anyone but me.
“Well, Mona, I’m so glad to hear that,” Emmett goes on. “The firm I work for would love to set up a time with you to talk specifics.”
Emmett starts to hand his business card over to Mona before I reach over and swat it away.
“Simon!” Mona yells. “Where are your manners? I know your mama raised you better than that.”
“You can’t sell to him,” I say. And this has nothing to do with my tickets. Mostly. Mona’s is an institution. Whoever comes in here next I want to make sure is going to spend the next fiftyyears here as well. It might not be the french toast I know and love—and really, what is—but I want someone in here that will be the next generation’s Mona. “Sell to me.”
“Simon,” Emmett says. “Our firm is ready to make a sizable offer.”
“What’s the offer?” I say. My tone has lost any hint of joking. I want this property. And I want it today.
“It’s valued at eight-hundred-and-seventy-five thousand,” he says.
“Well, hot damn,” Mona exclaims. “Do you know how many cruises I can go on with that kind of money?”
“I’ll give you a million. Cash.”
The restaurant goes silent. I’m sure it’s a coincidence, but I feel like everyone is staring. I can’t even hear the telltale sound of the grill sizzling with bacon.
“Simon. You know it’s not worth?—”
“Don’t ’Simon’ me Emmett,” I say, turning my focus to Mona. “If you’re truly thinking about selling, Mona, sell it to me. Don’t sell to some random firm in Nashville that will make it into a freaking chain coffee shop.”
She looks over to Emmett, who shrugs his shoulders. “He’s right.”
“See? Sell to me. I’ll make sure the next tenant will keep this as a restaurant. I mean, I’ll need my french toast fix from someone. Please Mona, don’t sell to them. Keep it in the Rolling Hills family. Please…pretty please….”
I’ve never in my years as a real estate agent begged for a sale. I’ve never batted my eyelashes or given a puppy-dog face.
Yet here I am, pouting and pleading like I’m asking my mom for a cookie.
“Fine,” Mona says, though it’s not enthusiastically. She does realize I’m about to give her a million dollars in actual cash, doesn’t she? “I’ll sell to you. But under one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Let me meet whoever decides to lease this,” she says. “It has taken me years to realize that it’s time for me to step back. This is my baby, Simon. My literal life. I know I can’t control or have a say as to who’s coming in here, but I want to know my baby is in good hands.”
