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“It is fun,” I tell him, “for kids above the age of eighteen, but not for you and certainly not for your mom. She won’t be happy if we try to ride that.”
He looks down at the ground and kicks at it. “I guess you’re right,” he mumbles.
“Hey,” I say, prompting him to look back up. “What did I tell you?”
“No sulking,” Noah answers on a sigh. “If I’m not happy, I have to tell you first. We have to be able to communicate,” he recites.
“Attaboy,” I tell him, ruffling his hair.
Most of the problems between me and Christine stemmed from a lack of communication. I’m going to make sure to teach my son to speak up, no matter what’s going on or if he fucked up. It hasn’t been too hard, since Noah likes to talk—a lot.
Christine is looking at me with admiration in her eyes, and maybe a little heat. I get a rush whenever she looks at me like that. We finally told Noah we were together and he had a bit of a non-reaction to it. He’s too young to understand all these things, and I’m glad for that.
Christine gets a call as we head back to my house. Noah loves the place. We’re going to have a serious conversation soon about where we’re going to live. I don’t mind commuting between Arcola and New York right now, but the strain will get to me.
And I’ll have to go back to being a full-time CEO eventually. I had a long meeting about my absence with the board earlier today. I know without a doubt things can’t go on like this.
“What is it?” I ask Christine when I notice how silent she has become after the phone call.
She shakes her head and looks back at Noah, who is sitting in the back seat. I take that to mean she’ll tell me when our six-year-old isn’t within earshot.
As soon as we get home, Noah heads up to his room, and one of the help who is doubling as a nanny for the duration of our stay goes along with him. Christine and I head up to our room, and as soon as we’re in there, she falls onto the bed.
“I’m going to lose the coffee shop,” she say softly, staring up at the ceiling.
“What?” I question.
She looks up. “Okay, don’t get mad,” she starts.
“I’m already getting mad,” I retort.
She raises an eyebrow, and I gesture for her to continue.
“When I first got back to Arcola, Rashida came by the coffee shop and mentioned that it was going to be torn down by the owners,” she starts.
“Isn’t that place owned by the Joneses?” I interrupt.
The Joneses were one of the most prestigious families in Arcola, but one of their sons got involved in a scandal and the family decided to move away—with the exception of the youngest, Morrison Jones, who is now running for city mayor.
“Yes. I got a call about a week ago from an estate agent. She informed me that Mr. Jones just passed away. Despite them moving away, he had continued to do business with my family for years. I offered my condolences and all that, but then the estate manager said his son doesn’t want anything to do with the coffeeshop and wanted to explore a more lucrative opportunity.”
I’m listening with rapt attention. “What does that mean?”
“According to Shireen, the estate manager, the son who inherited the building plans to demolish it and build something else in its stead. Maybe a casino or a bar. He asked me to vacate by the end of the month. Apparently, our lease indicates they only have to give us a thirty-day notice if the property is sold. I was in such a hurry to get the new lease signed, I didn’t even notice that damn clause.”
My blood boils.
“Who the fuck does he think he is? And why didn’t you tell me as soon as you got the call?” I ask my girlfriend.
“Because I thought I could fix it on my own. I don’t need your help, Mike. I started looking into buying the coffee shop from him, but the asshole is using my desperation as a reason to hike up the price. It would be impossible to buy the building from him right now, as it stands. I also looked into other places in Arcola where Chrissy’s Place could move to, but nowhere seems good enough.
“I grew up in that building and it hurts to think that I might lose it. Even if I decided to continue working as a lawyer, I would hire someone to keep up the place for me. I know your family practically owns this town so you have plenty to leave our son, but I was hoping to maybe pass it on to Noah one day.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look at her as she bows her head and plays with the hem of her dress. Standing there, I can feel the cloud of sadness hovering over her and I want nothing more than to support her even though all I want to do is fix the problem.
“That’s admirable of you. I love that you want to leave it as an inheritance for our son,” I say, grabbing hold of her hand.
She’s so used to doing it all on her own. I want to tell her that I’ll take care of it all but I figure that isn’t a good idea. Christine won’t accept a cent of my money unless it’s something that directly involves Noah. It was one of the rules she laid down at the start of our relationship. I’ve tried hard to get her to change her stance but to no avail.
