Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“I lose my shop.” I look through the window to see something that’s been a part of me my entire life. I think about my mom and all the hard work she put in through debt and paying off overdue bills, working seven days a week for years until I was old enough to cover a shift.
I feel sick.
As I look around Main Street, it’s easy to see that there’s not much here. My shop, the clothing store a few stores down, the post office catty-corner to me, and the fourth-generation-owned grocer across the street. There are more empty spaces than filled. Will any of them be able to survive this kind of corporate greed price increase?
My mom entrusted her shop, her other baby, to me. Am I going to lose Peaches Sundries & More the moment I take ownership? “What are my options?”
It’s the first bit of humanity I’ve seen cross his face. He even takes it a step further by showing me empathy in the shape of his mouth before he speaks. “There are only the two. You sign, or you close the shop and move out.”
I look down at the contract. Two options. That’s it.
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I ask, “Do I have time to think about it?”
“You have one week to renew the lease per your current contract. It states six months. With the recent change in ownership and needing to get the contracts updated, we’ve added a week to help you out.”
“Thanks,” I reply, not able to be grateful when I’m ultimately being forced out. “What happens if I vacate the spot?”
“The owner has big plans to revitalize the area with new businesses and bonuses to bring new families to town.”
“Bonuses to move here, but nothing for the residents who have lived here for generations?”
He redirects his eyes to a car passing by, not bothering to respond. We both know why. There is no satisfactory answer he can supply.
I stand, taking the paperwork in hand, and say, “It’s a long drive back to Austin. Would you like your coffee to go or a water or soda for the road?”
“A cola would be great. Heavy on the ice.”
Walking to the door, I reply, “Got it.”
I make it just how he requested, the born and raised Southern hospitality side of me coming out, and push through the door to the sidewalk. He’s standing, beads of sweat forming at his hairline. “It’s hot today.”
“That’s Texas for you.” I hand him the drink. “That will be four fifty-nine.” Call me petty, but I seem to have lost my manners. My registers’ gain.
“Oh, okay,” he says, digging his wallet out from his back pocket.
When he hands me a five-dollar bill, I ask, “Keep the change?”
“Sure.” The annoyance coats his reply while the sweat rolls down his forehead. “One week, Ms. Knot. Have a good day.” He walks to his car parked out front, but I stay a moment.
And when he looks back, I wave. “You, too, Mr. Josten.” Jerk.
I walk inside. I’ve heard that bell chime more times than I could ever count, but it never gets old. It’s come to symbolize more than a sound. It’s my dreams and goals all in harmony.
Glancing down at the paperwork in my hands, I realize it doesn’t matter what it says. As he stated, there are only two options. For me, there’s only one.
Tomorrow, I’m making a trip to the bank.
CHAPTER 22
Lauralee
It’s been so hard to keep my mom in the dark about what’s happening with the shop. As I sit here nervously waiting for the loan officer to return, I wish I could lean on her for support. Her advice would mean so much to me, but that would involve me telling her about my trouble.
Not even two weeks into owning the place, and I’m on the verge of losing it.
Shame claws at my insides. I haven’t slept well since Mr. Josten showed up with the news. Everything hinges on this loan, making every blink I take feel like a snapshot of Mom’s disappointment. The images of us packing up our livelihood haunt me. I can’t do this to her.
Through the glass, I see him returning with pronounced steps that echo under the crack of the door. I’ve been sitting for well over twenty minutes by myself, left to stress without a way to calm my nerves. I sit straighter upon his approach, worried I’ll be judged otherwise.
He’s already speaking like the conversation started outside the office. “. . . interest rate has gone up significantly. The current loan was paid off years ago, so it would be a brand-new loan at today’s rates, not yesteryears.” He sits down behind his desk and taps the papers on the top.
“Which is?” I ask, feeling the need to hold my breath right after.