“It needs work, but it’s on the lower end of your budget.”
Needs work? A massive understatement.
I stuff my hands in the front pockets of my shorts and lean to the side to look underneath the counter. A layer of grime coats everything. It’s an old diner with a standard setup of a long counter with stools, booths lining the outer perimeter, and there’s a pass-through to the kitchen accessed by a swinging door on the right.
The overall square footage is roughly the same as my bakery, but it’s flip-flopped. The kitchen is narrow, and the public space is the largest. It would require a total gut and renovation. There’s nothing I would salvage in the kitchen. Grease is caked on all the appliances and cabinets.
The building is in the newer part of town, outside the village.
I hate everything about it.
Sighing, I face my realtor, Bill Bovier. He is one of three realtors in town. Vanessa, of course, is not an option. I’d rather run down the middle of Main Street stark naked than ask her for help.
Okay, that might be extreme. But they both rank the same.
Lisa Johnson, an older woman, is on vacation. I chose Bill by default.
“It’s not going to work for me.”
“Okay, I have another building to show you in Granite Cove and there are more options if you’re willing to consider properties outside town.”
I’m not ready to give up on Granite Cove, but I need to see what’s available to make an informed decision. If I will move my bakery or continue renting. Only one thing is certain, I need to move out of my parents’ house.
“Let’s look at the other building and you can email me information on others in the area and I’ll decide if I want to see them.”
Tugging his handkerchief from his pocket, he blows his nose. Bill informed me of his allergies when I met him at his office this morning, announcing it like an appliance that comes with a warning label. He stuffs it back into the pocket of his beige pants which are riding dangerously low under his prominent stomach. A brown leather belt is helping the pants defy gravity. That and the constant yank he gives them.
“I’ll do that. You sure this can’t work for you?”
“One hundred percent.” The renovations alone would blow my budget.
Nodding, he frowns and takes one last look around. My confidence in his ability to find me what I’m looking for is rather low at the moment. It wasn’t all that high to begin with, but after seeing this place my options appear scarce.
I stand next to the passenger side of his white sedan and wait while he locks up. He unlocks the doors and opens the driver side door while I climb into the passenger seat. Glancing over, all I see is his stomach and the row of buttons bisecting it. The sound of him blowing his nose once again resonates over the top of the car.
He climbs in and drives out of the parking lot. The one positive thing I see about this diner is the ample parking.
“Now this next one will require a little imagination.”
This one didn’t?
“It’s by the train tracks. It was a store a few times, and before that a house.”
The train tracks meant outside the village again. The old depot, now defunct, was turned into a group of stores. There were a few nice buildings over there which might not be too bad, but it still wasn’t the village.
“Next to the depot?”
“No, this is farther up the tracks on the outskirts of town.”
Ugh, even worse. The farther away from the village we go meant the less foot traffic I would get patronizing my bakery.
I had taken Mrs. Roberts advice and come up with a list of different scenarios and options to salvage my plan. Option one: continue renting in my current location but find a modest house to buy. Option two: buy a new building with living space and move my bakery. Option three: continue living with my parents to save up more and buy the building from Mitch at whatever exorbitant price he wants.
Each choice had pros and cons, mostly concerning my meager budget. The third wasn’t really viable because my life plan hinged on getting out of my parents’ house. I only consider it because I want to be thorough.
Curiosity had gotten the better of me, and in the middle of figuring out ways to get my plan back on course, I looked up Mr. Roberts on the internet. I tried anyway. I guess the name is too common and I don’t have enough information about him, like first name, specific crimes, the dates involved, his age, the town or city he was arrested in.
The more I thought about her story, the more amazed I became. The sheer gumption she had to not only turn her husband in but do it in such a way as to ensure he would be far away from her.
I want to be that strong and smart.
He pulls into a loose gravel driveway and I glance at him to see if maybe he got lost and is turning around.
Bill puts the car in park and stares at the only structure in sight.
It’s an old barn.
With a giant hole in the roof.
There has to be a mistake because… it’s a barn. How could this be a former store, or especially a home?
“Ready to take a look?”
“It’s a barn.”
“That was probably one of its uses back in the day, but most recently it was an antique store. There’s a bathroom.”
Oh goody.
I should at least look at it and not make rash judgements.
The gaping hole is a problem. The lack of windows and large barn doors appearing to be the only entrance are also problems.
“Is there a kitchen?”
He said it was a home once, so there should be a kitchen, right?
“No, but it’s a wide-open space for you to design your dream kitchen.”
Closing my eyes, I rest my head back against the seat. These are my two options, a grimy diner and a barn.
“You could turn the loft area into a living space for yourself. It has a lot of potential.”
I heft a giant sigh and climb out of the car. “Let’s go look.”
After much prying and pulling on the doors, he gets us inside.
It’s even worse than I imagined.
Stray furniture is strewn about the large open space. A small square shaped room is tucked into the back corner. I assume it’s the bathroom. There’s a ladder disappearing into the ceiling next to it. The loft area? No stairs to access it, but a ladder.
Bill walks over to a table with two chairs. He upends one chair and sits down. “You have a look around.” He waves towards the ladder.
I meander around the debris laden floor and peer up the ladder. I can see water damage on the ceiling above and it’s not even near the hole in the roof.
A sharp squeal sounds behind me and I whirl around.
Bill is standing on top of the chair he was just sitting on with his hands clutched to his chest in fright.
I follow his gaze to see an oversized rat disappearing into a hole in the floor.
Ugh.
That’s it, I’m done.
As I walk back towards Bill still hyperventilating on the chair, a crack splits the air and he goes tumbling down when the chair crumbles beneath him.
I run over to help, but he is already scrambling up with his gaze fixed on the hole the rat disappeared into. He moves quickly for a man his age and size.
“Are you all right?”
He nods. His face is pale and there’s a sheen of sweat covering his forehead.
Please don’t let him have a heart attack or stroke.
“It won’t work.”
After giving me a swift nod he turns and heads for the door.
When I exit, he’s already in the car mopping his forehead with a tissue.
Okay then, my realtor has a strong aversion to rats. They don’t bother me, unless they’re in my home or bakery. That’s a no go.
I climb into the passenger side and glance at him to make sure he’s okay.
“All right, I’ll keep looking. I have a few homes to show you. You said you were also interested in seeing standalone houses.”
Back to business, I guess.
My budget for a house is small. If I keep renting the space for my bakery, it doesn’t leave much room for a mortgage payment on a house.
“Let’s see them.”
Bill drives back into town and shows me a duplex, a cape on the outskirts of town, and a bungalow not too far from the village.
The duplex is an automatic negative for me. A trio of dogs on the other half of the building barked the entire time we looked at it and I also don’t want to take on the added responsibility of managing the rental. The cape is the largest. Two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and a half bath, kitchen, living room, and dining room downstairs all set on two acres of property. What am I going to do with all that land? It will require maintenance and I don’t have the money in my budget to hire someone so it will mean I have to mow the lawn, trim the bushes, and whatever comprises lawn care.
Standing in the center of the bungalow, I fold my arms over my waist. It’s small, the smallest option he has shown me. There’s only one bedroom, a bathroom, living area, and a galley kitchen. It’s also the most expensive option because it’s right outside the village. I could still walk to the bakery. It’s at the top of my budget.
Wandering back into the bedroom, I gaze out the back window. The yard is fenced in with a chest high white fence, it surrounds the property on three sides. A large Maple tree sits in the center. I could get a dog, or a cat, or both.
Bill peeks in the doorway. “What’s the verdict?”
“It could work, but it’s expensive.”
“We could make an offer, see if they bite.”
The lawn is manageable, even I could mow it. I could plant flowers along the front walk too.
If I do this, then it means keeping The Sweet Spot where it is and not having to endure all that moving my bakery would entail.
Rubbing my forehead, I glance around the room at the wooden floors and the large closet.
“Make the offer.”