"You're not sorry, Mr. Langford. You and I both know how those rats got into my storage closet." I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe between the kitchen and the dining room. "So let's skip the part where you pretend to feel bad and get to whatever you came here to say."
He smiles, reaching into the leather folder under his arm to pull out a single sheet of paper and then he sets it on the nearest table. "I came to make you an offer again. And I think this time, you'll find it worth considering."
"I've already told you I'm not selling." I stand straighter, narrowing my eyes at him. He doesn't even try to deny putting the rats into my bakery, which is lower than trying to feign innocence. The bastard.
"That was before the closure." He taps the paper with one finger. "Right now, your bakery's shut down by the state for a health violation. That's public record, Emily. Anyone who searches your business name is going to find that closure notice. Your customers, your vendors, the council members who are about to vote on the waterfront proposal."
He pauses, and I watch something dark wash over his facial expression. "Selling to me protects your reputation. You walk away with money in your pocket instead of a health violation on your record and an eminent domain judgment that pays you pennies on the dollar."
I stare at that paper on the table rather than looking up at his ugly face. I'm so mad right now, I can't think straight. I know he's right about the reputation. I've heard other places that had lesser issues with pests that got shut down. The Taco Tent was one of them—cockroaches in the storage shed out back and they ended up selling that property and buying a new one altogether. This could ruin me for life.
"The number on that page is well above market value. Significantly more than the city would offer through eminent domain, and they won't be as generous with their timeline, either." He folds his hands in front of him. "I'm giving you a clean exit, Ms. Carter. No lawyers, or hearings, no public record of a failed business."
"My business didn't fail. Someone planted rats in my building." I feel like I might snap. I run a hand through my hair as he chuckles.
"That's a serious accusation." He doesn't react the way I think he might. If anything, he sounds nicer now. "Do you have any evidence to support it?"
God, I hate him. He's so infuriating and I'm so angry, I can't even think of good words to defend myself.
But I'm also so tired. I've been fighting this for months. Every time I think I've gained ground, something pulls it out from under me. This bakery was supposed to be my anchor. It got me through losing Jaxon the first time and Nan's death and single motherhood and every lonely night I spent upstairs in that apartment wondering if I'd made the right choices. Now it's nothing but a dead weight I can't carry and a reminder that my dreams are shattering right in front of me.
"You have until the thirty-first," Langford says. He adjusts the leather folder under his arm. "After that, I'll let the city proceed with whatever the council decides. And I think we both know which direction that vote is headed."
He walks out the front door and it swings shut behind him. The bell above the door jingles a few times then goes quiet.
Maybe Langford is right and it's time for me to move on. I wouldn’t be making the decision because I want to or because I like the options. But I'm tired, and I don’t see a clean way out of this. Not to mention the fact that Jaxon is here in Beaufort, and things are just too messy and broken between us to consider moving forward.
Would it be the worst thing in the world if I sold for some huge sum, only to buy a new place somewhere else? Mercy would have to go to a new school, but she's still so little. Kids this age bounce back so easily. And who knows, I may have more success in a different town entirely.
But it would mean admitting I've been wrong or that I can't do it.
And that's something I've never been very good at.
Still, it's either take his offer—swallowing my pride—or go down in flames.
Neither option is great.
25
JAXON
Maybe what I did wasn't screwing up as much as a misunderstanding or lack of communication, but Emily's message has come across loud and clear. I've been trying to get ahold of her all week long and not once has she responded or picked up her phone. She's hurt and I can't blame her. I stopped by the house the day before yesterday, but this time, it was Susan who sent me away.
Dad told me not to give up, so here I am trudging up the sidewalk toward the Carters’ front door with a pink fluffy unicorn in hand yet again, hoping this is the time she'll talk to me. Even if only for a second.
The unicorn’s ridiculous. Bright pink, sparkly horn, fluffy enough to embarrass any grown man, but I bought it for Mercy, anyway. I figured if anything could crack through the wall Emily’s built, it might be something soft for our little girl.
My boots feel heavy on the sidewalk, same as the last two times I came here. It might be the way I feel for a very long time if she turns me away again. I don't know what she expects fromme. I'm here now, trying, and she's pushing me away. I shouldn’t have to try this hard, but I don’t want to give up if I know there's a chance that this time could be the time she changes her mind.
I reach the door and knock before I can talk myself out of it. My knuckles are still raw from hauling debris at the site. The insurance adjuster was a nightmare yesterday—endless questions, paperwork stacked like kindling. Then the bank this morning, signing my life away on a second mortgage using my military pension as collateral just so Dad wouldn’t lose the house. Cole and Son’s is bleeding out, and I’m the one holding the wound shut.
Can't she see I'm trying?
When the door opens, Emily stands there in an old sweatshirt with red, puffy eyes like she's been crying. Her hair’s pulled back in a messy bun and I see the exhaustion and sadness all over her whole body. It fucks me up—like an instant spark on tinder that threatens to make the whole world explode out of nowhere. I want to kill whoever did this to her… until I remember that it's me she blames.
That fizzles the fire right out of my chest and I drop my head.
“Jaxon,” she says, so flat and empty. Every bit of the warmth I know and expect from her is gone, carried away on whatever emotional spiral I've put her through yet again.
