Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“There you are,” I hear from behind me and look over to see my brother walking in wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt. “I’ll take a coffee.”
“Is that your way of saying, ‘Autumn, can you make me a cup of coffee, please?’” I ask him and he just smirks.
“Almost,” he says, “just missing a couple of words.”
“Yes,” I reply, grabbing two white mugs. I put them down and fill them with the piping hot black coffee. “Especially the word please.” I put the pot down, handing him his mug before taking mine and smelling it before taking a sip. “Is there anything better than coffee in the morning?”
“Yes.” He grins. “There is something better in the morning.”
“Can you be more gross?” I ask, leaning my hip against the counter and putting one foot on the other, my eyes wandering around the room. “Why don’t we use this kitchen?” I ask, and he looks at me. “We could offer some pub food. You know, drinks and food so they stay later?”
“They have to come in the door first. We had three customers last night. I closed up at seven thirty.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “And I’m sure that they came in looking to see if you were here.” I close my eyes, trying to tell myself that eventually, it’ll go away, but knowing it will probably be like this for the rest of my life. I’m a pariah. I knew it would come to that when I spoke up. I just didn’t think it would last so long. I still would never go back and change my decision to do what I did.
“It’s a good thing we hit up that little B and B outside of town and left them the two-for-one specials,” I remind him of the little flyer I created. Luckily, the owner had no idea who the hell I was, so she was glad to put them at the front desk.
“We are going to need a lot more than that.” He turns and walks out of the kitchen.
“Well, we have to start somewhere,” I tell him, stopping in front of the bar. “Maybe we offer happy hour from five to seven,” I suggest to him things he probably did over the years, but they didn’t work, “but with a food special. Like two-for-one, but you have to order a burger.”
“Why would they come here to order a burger when they can go to the diner?”
“Can you get a pitcher of beer or try the new whiskey flavors at the diner?” I counter.
“I guess,” he concedes, “but that’s just throwing money away we don’t have.”
“I have money saved up,” I inform him. “Six years of living in a studio apartment and paying nothing for rent will make a good cushion.”
“I’m not taking your money.” He shakes his head. “And Dad sure as fuck is not going to take your money.”
“What choice do you have?” My voice goes higher than I want it to be. “You are literally drowning right now.” I shake my head. “And that is putting it mildly.”
“Autumn,” he says my name softly, “if you put everything you have into this, then what? You could end up with nothing, and then what?”
“And then I deal,” I tell him. “I go back to work and start over again. It won’t be the first time. And we can always sell my house.”
“Absolutely not.” He slaps the bar with his hand. “No fucking way. That’s nonnegotiable.”
“We can take a mortgage on it.”
“And what if you can’t pay it?” he asks me. “Then what, you lose Mom’s family home?”
“Well then, I guess we are going to have to go with plan A.” I try to cover my smile with the mug.
“Which is?” His eyebrows pinch together when he knows he just agreed to something without knowing he agreed to something.
“I’ll write you a check. A loan, and when we make it back.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I want it back.”
“Fine.” His words are laced with annoyance. “But”—he then smiles—“you get to tell Dad.”
“Or we don’t tell Dad.” I start to walk away from him. “Then he is none the wiser.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s going to ask questions when we start serving food.” He follows me to the back.
“Well, until then, we keep it to ourselves.” I push open the swinging door and look over my shoulder at him. “Now, I have some other ideas I want to run by you.” He immediately groans. “Aren’t you happy I’m back?” I fake smile at him, walking into the office and sitting behind the desk.
“So happy,” he says, sitting down. “Now, what else did you have in mind?” he asks, and I lean back in my chair, giving him a grin. “Ugh, I hate that face.”
“Get ready to work.” I wink at him and proceed to tell him about my ideas.