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Seth shook his head. He flipped his mug right side up on the saucer. “I’ll just have coffee.”
“You sure?” Sage asked as she poured.
“Yeah. I really want that omelet, but it’ll have to wait until next time.”
Sage nodded. “You got it.” She glanced at me. “I got Mrs. Diggs.”
“Oh, crap. I forgot.” I swiveled to give the older woman a smile.
“No worries.”
“She wasn’t mad?”
Sage shook her head. “Too busy staring at this one’s ass.” She nodded at Seth.
He waggled his eyebrows.
Sage rolled her eyes. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
As soon as she walked away, Seth folded his hands on the folder. “So, about the house.”
I looked down at my sandwich and picked up half. “Want?”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t want to come between you two.”
I shrugged. Fine by me. I sucked at sharing anyway. If he wanted to keep it about business, I could do that. “How’d we do?”
He blew out a breath. “I’d prefer to leave it on the market so we—”
“Nope. Can’t. John Chandler gave me three months to sell and here we are a week past that.”
His eyebrows snapped down and his jaw muscle flexed. I’d bet twenty bucks he was grinding his molars. But it was my decision, not his.
“I told you I could—”
“Nope.” I yanked a napkin out of the dispenser to degrease my fingertips before I covered his clenched hands. “You know I can’t.” He’d been trying to throw money at all my problems for years, but my answer was always the same. Even if he had more money than most of the Crescent Cove population combined, I couldn’t take money from a friend.
Especially not Seth.
God, not him.
“Let me talk to John. We throw him a hell of a lot of business. I can pull a favor.”
“No.”
I had a feeling the three months I’d been granted was already one of those favors. No matter how much history I had in this town, a banker wasn’t going to let me slide when it came to prime land, even if it was on the fringes of lakefront property. Add in the mortgage I could barely scrape together now that my mother’s social security was gone and the only math that made sense was selling the house.
John Chandler over at Crescent Cove Cre
dit Union might be a sweet man who coached Little League on the weekends, but he was still a businessman. And there were rules.
Rules I was intimately aware of. My mother’s modest life insurance policy did little more than cover her burial and a small memorial service.
“I’ve got a guy who’s buying up some of the older…” He trailed off.
I squeezed him one last time before sliding my hands back across the table and picking up my sandwich again. “Shacks? You can say it. I know my house wasn’t much.”
He swiped his hand along the back of his neck. “Dammit, Al.”
