Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I scroll to Rocco’s number on my cell, wondering what he would think about me keeping a piece of smooth rose quartz on my person. Jack probably wouldn’t bat an eye, though I can’t picture him allowing Beth to read him. Or whatever it is she does.
“Listen, this was a bad idea,” I say as soon as Rocco answers. “He won’t sell.”
“Since when does that stop you?” he replies with a laugh. “Maybe you didn’t offer the right number.”
I sink down on the bed. “We didn’t even get that far.”
“Ah, well, that must be the reason. Once we talk numbers, they normally cave.”
I stand and pace the room. “I don’t know. This feels different.”
“Because you fucked the guy?”
“Technically, he fucked me.” I need to abort that line of thinking, or I’ll have to resort to another shower.
“So soften him up, tell him he can remain a partner—in more ways than one—and we all reap the benefits.”
I trail a hand roughly over my face. “You don’t get it. His whole family has a stake in this town. They’re not interested in some city dude coming in to buy them out.”
“It’s one service station,” Rocco huffs. “You’d think they’d make a smart business decision if they wanted to keep that whole family-legacy thing rolling.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I sigh and reach for my water bottle, considering how the boating accident might figure into Jack’s inflexibility. His family means a lot to him. But when I’d probed deeper on the trail, he hadn’t seemed enthusiastic about running the place.
“So, what’s it like in Aqua Vista?” Rocco asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Hang on, I’ll send you a photo I took on my morning hike. The views were breathtaking.”
I choose a photo and fire it off, then click on one of the beach views and send it along.
“Nice. Maybe I ought to join you on this little vacation.”
I fumble the water bottle, not liking that idea at all. “How about next time?”
My reaction doesn’t make sense. It’s not like I’m feeling possessive of the place, but it already seems like I have more of a stake in it than Rocco.
“Listen to you, already thinking about returning.” He chuckles. “In fact, that would work out perfectly. If Jack is interested in selling, he can still run the place or maintain minority ownership. Sort of how it worked with the Baker deal last year.”
God, I can only imagine Jack’s reaction to that suggestion. The Baker family was way more willing to consider all the options and proposals when we offered to purchase their failing vintage toy shop and upgrade it with fresher ideas.
“Let me think it through and figure out another angle. You’ve got plenty of other stuff to keep you busy.”
“Speaking of which…” Rocco fills me in on a couple of offers, and they all feel so much easier than dealing with Jack McCoy. Go figure.
After the call, I’m too restless to stay put, so I leave my car behind and walk into town. When I step inside the Honeycomb General Store, it’s like a throwback to the 1950s but with supplies from the twenty-first century. Quaint yet modern.
The bell over the door announces my arrival, and right away, I see the McCoy family resemblance. This must be his aunt Dina. “Can I help you?”
“I’m hoping to purchase hiking boots.”
She looks at my dusty sneakers. “How long did it take you to realize those won’t do on the trails?”
“Oh, about five minutes.”
She smiles. “Right this way.”
She leads me to a table with several pairs displayed. A couple of name brands as well as others that would do in a pinch, which is probably the point. Tourists who forgot their shoes or only just discovered they wanted to hike, like me. In fact, as I give the whole store a cursory glance, it seems to be stocked for just such visitors. A little bit of everything, from snacks to medical supplies to clothes geared for the outdoors, whether it be the beach or the mountains.
But then my gaze homes in on an entire table of honey products, from jams to lip balm—which solves the mystery of the store’s name, at least partly. Did they start off selling honey and decide to expand?
“My husband, Chuck, is a beekeeper,” she says, noticing me scrutinizing the products. “And the local Realtor. We all do a little of everything around here. Where are you from?”
How did she know I wasn’t from around here? Oh, that’s right, small town.
“San Jose.”
“You must be the man Jack warned us to steer clear of,” she says, and I nearly swallow my tongue. He must’ve been piping-mad to call his aunt and maybe his siblings too. Interesting how none of them mince words.
When I wince, she laughs and pats my shoulder. “Jack’s always been hardheaded, sometimes for no good reason.”