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I clasp my hands, going for casual kindness. “Sell me the Barrel’s building.”
She startles, then shakes her head. “Is that building on a secret oil deposit I don’t know about? What’s with everyone clamoring for it?”
“Jolene loves the bar,” I say, avoiding the topic of her current buyer. Sharing my involvement in the development won’t help my cause. “She must’ve been upset when you told her you planned to sell. She doesn’t want to lose her business, and I’m guessing hurting her isn’t sitting well with you.”
Francisca deflates. The wrinkles by her mouth deepen. “Believe me, the last thing I want is to hurt that girl. Her aunt was a dear friend. The Barrel is a great establishment, but I have to think about my future. Plan for my retirement. I didn’t realize how much I needed a change until I got that surprising offer.”
Until I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.
“What if I told you I could match your current offer, but I wouldn’t kick Jo out? You’d get the sale you’re after, and no one would evict her—the peace of mind I mentioned. The Barrel and Rebecca’s legacy would carry on. Jolene wouldn’t be devasted to lose her livelihood. Would you sell the building to me instead of the current buyer?”
“Well, I…” She frowns, blinking at the asphalt. “I wish you’d come by sooner, Cal. I gave the buyer my word, which means something to me.”
Nope. No. That answer is not acceptable.
“From what I gather, Jolene was upset when you told her about your plans, right?”
“She tried to put on a brave face, but…yes. I think I might have broken her poor heart.”
Jesus. Of course Jolene forced kindness in the face of her shock. Of course her heart’s been shattered into pieces. Might as well dig myself a grave now.
“If you sell me the building,” I say more forcefully, “you can mend her heart, Francisca. Save a business that’s been a staple in Windfall for years. I’ll even increase the offer. How does an extra ten grand sound?” When she hesitates too long, I say, “Your grandson.”
“My grandson?”
“I’ll hire him. Teach him construction. Give him something to focus on besides sock puppets.”
She juts out her hand. “Then you, my friend, have yourself a deal. But you can’t back out. I’ll want that last part in writing.”
I shake her hand, somewhat concerned about her grandson’s ability to wield a hammer, but hell. I’d hire a sloth if it meant saving Jolene’s dreams.
We discuss a few more details, then I head to my truck and finally read Jo’s text.
Jolene: I got the worst news. Kind of falling apart here. Can you come back to the bar to talk?
Yep. My grave needs to be excavated. She’s understandably upset, and I hate the part I played in hurting her. But I still have to tell her about my involvement in this debacle. Privacy is needed for that confession.
Me: I’ve gotten sidetracked. Can’t make it back, but I’ll wait up for you. We’ll talk when you’re home.
My gut churns as I hit Send. This might be the last time Jo texts me when she’s upset and needs a friend.
chapterforty-two
Callahan
I’ve been pacing in my home for the better part of an hour, waiting for Jolene to walk in. It’s late. Sleep is nowhere on my radar. My brothers have all messaged, telling me to update them when I can or call if needed. All I need right now is Jo and her forgiveness.
The front door rattles, and my pulse pounds in my ears.
Jolene pushes intoourhome—which might soon bemyhome—anddamn, she’s definitely devastated. Her lips are pressed tight. Worry lines are carved into her forehead. When she looks up and her red-rimmed eyes find mine, I debate joining a monastery. The isolated kind where I’m forced to live in silence and contemplate the bad deeds I’ve done.
“I lost the Barrel,” she says, sad and quiet, walking toward me in a rush. Her arms are around my waist in seconds. She mashes her face into my chest and exhales, seeking comfort. I don’t deserve to hold her soft body, but I fucking do. I try to absorb her anguish, refuse to pity myself. All that matters right now is Jo.
She sniffles and clings to me. “Francisca sold the building, and the person buying wants to open a brewpub. A fuckingbrewpub. A cookie-cutter cliché, which means I’m evicted. My plan with Larkin is bust. All the work I’ve done was for nothing. Why the hell didn’t I make sure I had a secure lease?”
I hug her so hard I’m worried she can’t breathe. “I’m so sorry, but it’ll all be okay.”
The sound she makes is a half sob, half growl. “I just…I don’t understand. Everything was finally falling into place. Larkin and I were so excited. It felt like us working together was fate.”
