“Oh my God, that would be perfect.”
Whitney finished the last bite of her burger and left me at the table while she walked outside to get the number from the window. “It’s for sale,” she announced, sitting back down at the orange booth.
“Ugh.”
“What ugh?” she asked.
“Sale, not lease.”
“So?”
I stared at her. “So? Well, Miss Baseball Millionaire To Be, that just means my probably can’t afford it just skyrocketed to definitely can’t afford it.”
“But if you buy it, you can do what you want with it,” Whitney argued.
“Well then, let me pull out my checkbook and write them a check,” I teased. “Then we can make a bet on how high it will bounce.”
“I told you I wanted to help you start this up,” she said. “Calvin and I have both talked about it and think it would be a terrific investment.”
“You’ve done so much for me already.” Tears pricked my eyes. “And what if it fails? I don’t want that pressure of having to be successful enough to pay you back.”
“I wouldn’t care if you took fifty years to pay me back. As long as you were doing something you loved.” She waggled her brows. “And I got free cake every week.”
Whitney was designing offices for Rhett, and I knew he paid her well, but not well enough for her to put up money for a building, so the money would come from Calvin. I couldn’t do that. It just didn’t feel right to me.
Whitney was already on the phone with the agent, requesting a time to see inside and to find out more about the building. I kept waving my hands in front of her face, begging her to just hang up, but she wouldn’t. I didn’t want to see inside. It was perfect. I knew it would be. I also knew I couldn’t afford it.
“That will be great. See you then.” She disconnected the call and smiled wildly. “She’s in the neighborhood and can meet us there in ten minutes.”
I was excited too, but suddenly sick.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No.” I scooted from the booth and rushed to the bathroom.
There was nothing classier than throwing up in a public restroom, especially one that wasn’t private. As I tossed my lunch into the commode, I could see saggy stockings on a pair of thick older legs in the stall next to me. She must love this ambiance.
Whitney helped me with my hair, holding it from my face. She wetted towels to cool me down and even offered up an apologetic look to the old lady who frowned at me as she left her stall.
“What was that about?” Whitney asked.
“I don’t know. Chronic disappointment,” I deadpanned.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re stressing out too much. Let’s just go look at the place for fun. No pressure.”
“I can deal with that.”
She had already paid the bill, so I left a ten-dollar bill on the table as we walked out. “That tip was more than your lunch,” Whitney said.
“It’s a family-owned business.” I smiled and gripped onto Whitney’s arm as she pulled me across the street.
A white Cadillac pulled up in front of the building, and a well-dressed woman with golden blonde hair stepped out of the driver’s seat. “Are you Beverly?” Whitney asked.
“Yes.” She extended her hand to Whitney first, and then to me.
She was over the top, this agent. She had a southern drawl that could peel paint from the walls. Her perfume was so thick it almost choked you to get within five feet of her. That could possibly be a survival tactic for the city. But she was friendly and super excited about the idea of a bakery being added to the street.
“The price is super reasonable,” she said.
Someone who dressed the way she did, drove a brand new Cadillac, and had more money in diamonds on her left hand than my entire family had earned in a lifetime, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she considered super reasonable.
“Let’s look inside before we talk price,” Whitney said, reading my mind.
Not daring to hope, I turned toward the red wooden door with large display windows on either side. “I think this was once a deli,” the realtor said as she opened the door.
Inside it was perfect, just as I hoped it wouldn’t be. I knew the super reasonable price would be super ridiculous, but I was in love.
Upstairs was roomy, plenty of ventilation, and even had a dumb waiter for delivering stuff from floor to floor. “This is exactly what I want some day,” I whispered to Whitney.
“Okay, so what is this super reasonable price?” Whitney cut right to the chase.
“This building has been on the market for over a month, so the owners just reduced the price. For complete ownership, rights, licenses for food distribution and equipment, its bundled at an even two million.”
I gasped when I heard the price. I was freaking out about the possibility of two hundred thousand dollars. Two million was super reasonable?
“That’s actually much less than the average asking price per square foot in this area,” she added, like that was helpful.
“Maybe New York isn’t the place for me to start my business,” I whispered, still cringing at the price tag.
“The foot traffic here is incredible, and it’s a desirable shopping location for surrounding neighborhoods. There are no other bakeries within four miles, which is unheard of as far as competition ratio per square block in this city.”
She did make two million sound like a hell of a deal. No wonder she drove that fancy car.
Whitney took her card and told her we’d be in touch. I was just glad to be out of there.
“Wow. I think I’ll go back to Indiana. I could get that building for sixty thousand.”
“Yeah. And you’d have how many customers in a day? You pay for the revenue generation of the area, girl.” Whitney sounded so professional.
On our way back to Whitney’s car, I saw a homeless man sitting on a bench, and my thoughts automatically went to Ace.
“Wait a second,” I told Whit.
Digging in my purse, I pulled out one of the hundred dollar bills that had magically appeared there before I left Florida.
“What are you—?”
I lifted a wait a minute finger and walked over to the man. Tears pricked my eyes when I saw the military emblem on his jacket. My throat was so clogged that I couldn’t say a word, so I just pressed the money into his hand instead.
He lifted his green eyes to me, shame resting inside them, and nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. Very much.”
I touched his shoulder. “Good luck,” I said before walking away.
Tears were in Whitney’s eyes when I got back to her, and she looped her arm through mine. “Ace would be proud,” she said, and I nodded, glad that, if nothing else, he’d opened my eyes to the people I once saw as transparent.
***