Page 65 of Flirting with the Stranger

“I don’t think any of that will fix what I did.” I twirl the base of my beer glass on the bar top.

“Oh shit. What did you do? Burn down the bakery?” Trey elbows me, humor in his voice.

I stifle a laugh. “I wish I burned it down. That would have been a lot easier to explain instead of telling Hollyn I sold it.”

“Wait? You sold the bakery?” Seth asks.

“I did, and apparently it was to someone who’s been after the bakery for several years.”

“What did Hollyn say?” Bennett asks.

“Her expression said it all.” I take a long drink of my beer, wanting to wash away the disappointment on her face that’s imprinted in my mind. If she said she hated me, it would have been easier to process. How do you fix disappointment?

Seth leans in. “But she didn’t say anything?”

“She said it was fine. We would figure something out.”

“There you go. She said it was fine. What’s the big deal?” Trey says.

Bennett and Seth lean against their chairs and glance everywhere but at me. I tip my head to Trey. “What’s the big deal? A very scary woman once told me when a girl says ‘it’s fine’ it is, in fact, not fine. It’s the opposite of fine. I’ve now witnessed this firsthand, and it’s not fine.”

Trey glances past me to Bennett and Seth. Both of them nod their heads vigorously. “This is why I’m never settling down. Shit’s way too confusing.” He takes a drink of his beer.

“Could you ask for the bakery back? Maybe explain it was a big mistake,” Seth asks.

“I tried that. Then he said he would take me to court if I tried to withdraw from the deal.”

“Oh shit. This guy means business.” Bennett takes a drink of his beer.

“Yeah, so that’s out. And I have no plan B.” I stare at my half empty glass.

“You know, a property came across my desk today.” Trey pulls out his phone and taps a few times on the screen. He slides his phone to me. “It’s a small building but in a prime location by the lake. They used it as a seasonal pop-up restaurant for the tourists. With a little remodeling, it could make a great location for cupcakes, especially with the foot traffic.”

“I hate to admit this, but Trey might be on to something. You could start anew,” Seth says.

Bennett points to Seth. “It could be something you own together.”

“The Sweet Spot two point oh,” Trey says, excitement in his tone.

I scroll through the photos on Trey’s phone. He’s right. This place has a lot of potential. And I could see the foot traffic being crazy during the summer. Most of all, there isn’t any type of bakery in that area. Gourmet treats on the go. Finally, after days of misery, I’m finally excited about something. And it’s an idea that’s crazy enough to work.

“Trey, get me an appointment to see that building.” I glance between the three guys. “And don’t tell Hollyn. I want this to be a surprise. And tell Charlie, Parisa, and Olivia I’ll need their help too.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

THE SWEET SPOT 2.0

Van

Trey got in touch with the realtor of the small building he showed me and set up a meeting for the following day. The sun peeks over the building rooftops as I stroll down the sidewalk. I glance down at the address, then up to the numbers above the door. My feet come to a halt, 532 Lake Shore Avenue. The building is a sliver of bricks sandwiched between two much larger ones. If someone blinks, they’ll miss it. The curb appeal is severely lacking with the overgrown hedges and cracked patio bricks, but looking past that, this place has potential.

“Hi. You must be Van?” A woman in her mid-forties exits the door. She maneuvers her way over the split and missing bricks and holds out her hand for me to shake.

“Yes. And you’re Denise?”

“I am. Let me show you inside.” Denise strolls to the front door and holds it open as I walk through. She waves her hand in front of her. “I would give you a tour, but this is about it.” She lets out a small laugh.

When Trey mentioned it was small, he was talkingsmall. The size is shy of one thousand square feet, and it appears to be exactly that small. I glance around the space. It’s a little dark with the small windows in the front. There’s only about twelve feet between the front door and an old, rickety, wood counter that runs the width of the building. I run my fingers over the rough wood top. Dust covers my fingertips and I wipe it on my jeans. The wood needs a good sanding and a fresh coat of stain and finish. I peer to my left and then the right. The walls could use a fresh coat of paint. I kick my toe at a chip in the black and white checkered tile floor. Denise leads me behind the counter and into the kitchen, if you could call it that. There is a prep table along one wall, an open space for a fridge, but definitely not enough room for a commercial fridge. A flat top grill sits along the far wall with a double oven next to it. The kitchen would need a complete remodel. It would need to be more bakery than restaurant. I take one last glance around. This building needs a lot of work in order to get it into properly working conditions.

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