not to let Sandy help you with a little money? Especially since you won’t take help from me, and you gave Nate his money back.”
He was a hairsbreadth away from a primal scream. But he replied calmly, “It wasn’t a little money, it was thirty thousand dollars. And, who told you...?”
“Loretta and I talk.”
“That’s nice.” Great. All he needed was his mother and Sandy’s collaborating. “Mom, I’m not getting involved until I have my bills paid. Sandy does well on her own. She doesn’t need to be mixed up in this.” He kept going when his mother tried to interrupt him. “I know you and Loretta both have our best interests at heart, but, for now, anyway, Sandy and I are pretty much over. Just give up on whatever happily-ever-after scenario the two of you had going.”
His mother frowned.
“Mom, she refinanced her house to help me pay off my debts. I’m not letting her do that, so she’s mad at me.”
“Do you know that her husband just walked away when Addie was born? And that was after her father left them when she was just a teenager?”
“She told me. But, Mom it’s more complicated than just all the debris in my life. It’s her. Sandy doesn’t understand anything that isn’t part of her plan. Which seems to consist of putting a responsible man in her life because the others have flaked out on her.”
“And you’re not that man?”
“No. At least not now. And she’s an immediate kind of woman. She wants what she wants, and she doesn’t want to wait for it. Usually, I’m not a man to be talked over, ridden over or shoved over. Jennifer managed to do that to me when I wasn’t looking, but nobody’s going to do that to me again.”
“Hunter. You’re not comparing Sandy with Jennifer.”
He was now exhausted. “Of course not,” he said wearily. “But Sandy is pushy, and I’m in no mood to be pushed right now. Good night, Mom. I’ll run your numbers through the computer and let you know what comes up.”
Her voice followed him down her front walk. “Then how will you do the Clothes Closet opening together? It’s already been announced in the paper.”
Several bad words raced through his mind. “We’re adults,” he replied over his shoulder. “And neither one of us cares about us anymore. We’ll be able to focus on the project. Good night.”
Depression sought to pummel him as he drove home, but he fought it off. He would pay off his debts and start over. He figured getting square with the world would take him another five years. Thirty-nine wasn’t too old to pull his life together.
His apartment on Grand Avenue was dark and cool when he got in. He flipped on lights, then turned on the television in the small living room furnished with a brown tweed sofa and chair from his old place and a coffee table he’d gotten from Goodwill. He went into the kitchen to nuke a cup of coffee. The landlord had called the kitchen small and efficient, everything within easy reach, when he’d shown him the place. Hunter should have realized it was a warning that he’d always be slamming into a cupboard door he’d left open or banging his knee on a drawer. But the rent was reasonable, the other tenants pleasant and quiet. He could do this for five more years. He looked out his window to the lights on a freighter at anchor in the river and the nostalgia of early evening overtook him. Leaning against the window molding, he felt as though his stomach had caved in.
Five years was a long time to be lonely.
CHAPTER FOUR
SANDY STOOD IN the middle of the dark, overcrowded box that was Crazy for Coffee and, inexplicably, felt her small world open up. She smiled at Bjorn, who watched her a little worriedly. He was in his early forties and going home to Chicago to help his parents manage their deli because his father was in poor health. She bought a caramel-vanilla latte from Bjorn a couple of mornings a week, and he was a client of the law firm she used to work for, so she knew him fairly well. They’d had a long talk on the phone the night before.
“What’s the matter, Sandy?” he asked. “Are you claustrophobic? Because if you are, you’ll go nuts in here.”
“I’m not claustrophobic,” she assured him. She held up the folder he’d given her with the last two years’ tax returns and several other financial reports. “I’m very, very interested.”
“Okay, I don’t mean to be nosy, but how will the law office get along without you?”
“Easily, I think. They let me go. So, I’m looking for something else. Be nice to be my own boss for a change.”
Her research showed that a coffee cart had relatively small operating costs, an easily sold product, and a good profit margin. She figured that with careful management and hard work, she could do this, and do it well. She had confidence in her ability to make anything work. Well, she didn’t seem that great with relationships, but she could make everything else work.
He laughed at her. “Owning your own business definitely has its perks, but you’re It in a crisis. Or any other time, really. There’s no one else to turn to when you have a problem. Are you ready for that?”
She shrugged. “It’s just like parenting, or owning a home, or living your life. You’re It, the last word. I have a lot of experience being It.” She looked around herself and nodded. “I’d like to buy Crazy for Coffee, Bjorn.” Since Hunter didn’t want a future with her, she’d set out bravely on her own.
“You would?” He appeared surprised, then probably realizing that was not good salesmanship, added quickly, “Don’t you want to see the books? Talk to my accountant? Sales are up about 12 percent since I bought the business two years ago.”
“I did a little research on you and the business. And whenever I come for coffee in the morning, I’m usually fourth or fifth in line, so I know you have the customer base. And you can’t beat the location, on a concrete slab allowing access on both sides, right on 101 and just off the bridge.” She gazed at the supplies, the bottles of syrups, the refrigerator filled with cream, milk, fruit and other necessities. “Does the price include the inventory?”
“No. But I can tally that tonight when I close and give you a final figure in the morning.” He excused himself to respond to a honk at the north window, quickly prepared a mocha grande, handed it out the window, then dropped a few bills and a handful of change into the register.
She held out her hand. “So, we have a deal?”
“We have a deal.” He took her hand and shook it. “Great.” Then he looked troubled. “My lawyer is one of your bosses. Your former bosses. Are you okay with meeting me there tomorrow to draw up the papers?”
“Sure. I’ll have a check for you. When did you want to turn it over to me?”
“The first of June is in eight days. Does that work? What about employees? I do mornings, and two high school girls come in in the afternoon. They’re pretty reliable and from the feedback I’ve gotten, they make good drinks. They just have to be reminded not to chat too long with friends driving through. Since school shuts down for the summer in two weeks, you can schedule them earlier in the day instead of just afternoons.”
“Great. I’ll keep them on if they want to stay. Think I can learn the ropes in that short a time?”
“Of course you can. But you realize how it is. You won’t officially know it all until you’ve worked it for a couple of months.”
They agreed to meet at her old office the following afternoon as soon as his staffer came on after school.
Sandy had dropped the girls off early at daycare, and went home to take a quiet moment and make a list of all she should do today. At home she sat down at the kitchen table and wrote: “acquire a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts to work in, transfer money out of savings, buy something pretty” (since it would probably be the last thing she’d be