Page 98 of More Than My Hometown

I sit back, running through our conversation at Pour Decisions. It was just the three of us. Until Jace barged in. Then Hux. But they weren’t even there for the conversation about the store. Jace turned everything on its head with his demands about Presley Callahan.

The bar wasn’t even open. That was why I was even willing to have the conversation there. It was safe. The last thing I wanted was for this to get out, get around town, the same way my interest in the store had made its way around when I made an offer to old man Jennings ten years ago.

Old man Jennings.

“Seth Jennings,” I mutter, not bothering to hide my disdain.

He was there. He was fixing a toilet and must have somehow overheard us talking. That jackass never liked that I bought the store from his grandfather and changed the name—a fact he’s never bothered to hide. On top of that, he’s always had a thing for Maisey. How that would play into this, who the fuck knows. But I got ten bucks that says it’s Seth Jennings who thinks he can try and take the store from me.

And he can fucking think again. He’s going to have to pry it out of my cold, dead, and lifeless hands. In fact, even then, he’s not going to get it, because I’m going to make sure The Booby Trap is so solidly tied to Hayes in every way possible that he couldn’t dream of making an offer. Hell, I’ll burn it down and donate the land to the town first.

“What about him?”

“He can’t fucking have it.”

Gus throws his hands up. “I don’t know when everyone in this family decided they could just say someone’s name and then a very definitive statement and expect everyone else to follow along, but between you and Jace… Christ on a bike. Explanation is necessary, you know.”

I glare at him. He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I want to concede his point. I’m too angry. My anxiety morphed into indignation pretty quick, but I don’t care. It’s nice to be feeling something else right now.

“It’s him, isn’t it? He’s the one making the offer. He overheard us while fixing the toilet at Pour Decisions. He’s always hated that I changed the name, and now he thinks that since he’s on the town council he’s got some power and can try and get it back,” I grumble. “And after what he did to Hux last year, this is just his next power move.”

Now that I think it through, it all tracks. He tried to veto Hux’s request to revamp the town’s playground last summer as a gift to Dolly, stating it wasn’t a good use of town funds. Coincidentally, it took Dolly threatening his pastry habit to get him to change his vote.

Somehow I don’t think that would work here. Her cinnamon rolls are good. They aren’t that good.

“Next he’ll put a move on Maisey,” I tack on under my breath, then push to my feet. I need to move, get some of this energy out of me.

“What?”

“He had a thing for Maisey in high school.”

“Oh. Right, well…” Gus pushes to his feet, rounding his desk and walking over to me. He stands directly in front of me, stopping my ability to pace. “Will you just come to the conference room so that you can talk to them?”

“I don’t have anything to say to the plumber.”

Gus lets out an exasperated sigh, clearly done with me and my shit. To be fair, I would be too. There is already a part of me that is thinking that this is a sign that I need to reconsider. That this isn’t actually the way to go.

Reykjavík…

Maisey’s sweet voice flows through my head, the lightness in her tone as she says the name of the city she’s always wanted to go to. The pain in her eyes the last few days as she’s agonized over her choices, so afraid of making the wrong one. My heart cracks, splintering into tiny pieces that are barely holding on, knowing that I have a way to take that pain away.

A way to choose her over this town. To tell her that she means more than our hometown. More than anything else in this world.

“Ewan, please. I promised them you’d at least hear them out,” Gus pleads. “If you hate what they have to say, fine. We come back in here, we sign the original paperwork, and we go have Munch. Deal?”

I nod. That I can do.

“Good.”

Turning to go, I follow Gus out of his office, making a left to walk down the long executive hallway. I pause, letting him get a few steps ahead, not sure why we’re going this way. There’s only one conference room in this direction—the executive conference room—which is generally reserved for internal, senior staff level meetings, and on Mondays, is always reserved for Munch. It’s incredibly rare that a meeting with a non-Hayes employee would be held in that room—Monday or not. The last non-employee I remember even being allowed in there at all is when Nash crashed Munch two years ago to profess his love for Willa.

“We taking the long way?” I ask, still keeping enough distance between us for Gus to do an about-face if he realizes he’s on autopilot and has gone the wrong direction.

“Nope, I’ve got everything set up in here.”

He stops just outside the executive conference room, and now I’m really stumped.

“Everything else booked?”

“Ewan, you’re killing me.”

What’d I do?

He opens one of the double doors, holding it open and gesturing for me to enter. I lift a shoulder, trying to tell him I don’t understand his confusion, when I’m the one who has no idea what is going on here. None of this is making any sense.

Walking into the room, I stop. Right along with my heart.

It all makes even less sense now.

Sitting at the head of the table, the spot usually reserved for Auggie—or maybe Gus if he’s trying to get all bossy—is the very last person I expected to see. Jesus himself would be less of a surprise.

“Ewan, may I introduce you to your prospective buyer,” Gus whispers from behind me. “In fact, I think you might know each other.”

I nod, unable to breathe. Especially when that smile hits me.

“Maisey.”