Page 38 of The One I Hate
Interesting. Not that it matters to me. As long as Emmett is easy to work with and there aren’t a million stipulations in the rental agreement, it doesn’t matter who owns this place.
Wait, what am I saying? I’m not leasing this. I’m not signing anything. This isn’t the beginning of my dream coming true. Because there’s no way I can afford this. I guarantee that Emmett is about to pop my fantasy balloon when he tells me what the rent is. Hell, I should stop daydreaming now and ask him how much, so I can return to reality.
The kitchen equipment from first glance is in working order. Maybe a little on the dated side, but would still run without a problem. It has everything I need for my menu, including ovens and a station for Mellie to make all the desserts and pastries she wants. If I close my eyes, I can picture myself cooking back here.
Mellie is across from me, flour all over her, as she bakes. Servers are coming in and out shouting orders. Line cooks are cracking jokes as they bring my creations to life.
Fuck my life…
“Oh my gosh, I can’t wait for you to be here!” Whitley gushes as we exit the kitchen, her hands clapping in excitement.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I say to her and myself. I need to stay rational and focused. I can’t let a cute layout, a name sent from heaven, and a perfect kitchen blind me to the fact that it’s probably too expensive for me.
Plus, there’s my brother and niece to think about. I can’t just ask them to up and move down here with me.
There’s also the whole “Simon could walk in at any moment” issue.
Those are all plenty of good reasons to say thanks but no thanks.
“So what do we think?” Emmett asks as we approach his table.
“She’ll take it!” Whitley says.
I give Whitley a side-eye as we each take a seat. “I do love it. But that is how I know something is wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a glass-half-empty kinda gal, Emmett. So let me explain to you what we have here.”
This makes him smile as he leans back into his chair. “I’m all ears.”
“This is a perfect restaurant in a seemingly perfect town, which means you’re going to come back to me with a price I can only afford if I sell pictures of my feet, which, unfortunately, just aren’t that pretty. So lay it on me, Emmett. What’s the damage so I can politely tell you no. Because unless this place comes in at thirty-five hundred dollars a month, or magically less, then let’s both save our breath and end this charade.”
Emmett starts laughing, which is one of two responses I planned on getting. My self-deprecating humor usually is met with chuckles or stares. I’m glad Emmett is in the laughing column. He seems like a guy I could have a beer with, or wouldn’t mind serving him lunch each day at the counter as we chit-chat about the mundane.
“You’re one of a kind, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been told something like that.”
We share a friendly smile, but that’s all it is. Friendly. Genuine. Nothing flirtatious. Which makes sense and what I’ve come to expect. This man is in the top five of hottest men I’ve met in real life. I’m a very curvy, plus-sized woman who puts on makeup once a month and box dyes her hair when she’s bored. Men like Emmett don’t go for girls like me unless they want one thing. At least, that’s been my experience.
Or there are men like Simon, who pretend to be interested when you’re really just a conquest.
And sometimes you’re drunk enough to let them win.
I shake my head too quickly as I wait for Emmett to respond. Which he hasn’t yet. He’s just sitting back and smiling.
“Was I so off on the price that you’re trying to figure out how to gently let me down? Which I appreciate. Usually I get the ‘we’d love to lease to you but…’”
He smiles again and closes the folder. “It’s yours.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I was right about being out of my financial range when I realize he said it was mine.
It’s mine?
“Excuse me, can you repeat that?”
“He says it’s yours!” Whitley yells as she starts shaking me in excitement. “I knew this was perfect!”
