Page 21 of Hard to Love
“Guess you’ve figured out the unfortunate truth. I am not normal.” She’d straightened her shirt after her snort-fest, but Alex could still spy a hint of cleavage peeking out from the neckline that had been driving him crazy all day. “Let’s check out the bathroom.”
God help them.
The tiny space holding a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a modest shower was anything but fancy. It needed a good cleaning, but other than that, it would work. And if he had to stick around for a few days, the farther out of sight he was, the better.
“You desperate enough to get out of the frilly B&B to risk another mouse sighting?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah.” This time Alex found himself grinning along with Greer’s laughter. “But as eager as I am to get away from that girly bed, this place doesn’t have furniture.”
“Oh.” Her laughter died down quickly. “Dad’s house is still full of stuff…”
This time, he was the one to reach out and touch her. “I can make do with a blow-up mattress.”
“We’ll get it figured out.” Greer dusted off her hands and led the way back through the larger room, down the stairs, and into the barn’s main area. As far as he could see, all it had going for it were high ceilings and a relative lack of crap. But by the way Greer was slowly pacing off the space, her pointer finger against her lips, she obviously envisioned something else.
“It won’t work for long-term resident artist studio space, but I could fit at least sixty flexible vendor stalls for weeklong exhibitions in here,” she muttered. “Maybe with moveable three-quarter panels. Gotta run electric down thewalls, maybe deal with some plumbing.”
“Don’t customers usually expect small conveniences like bathrooms?”
“Hmm…you’re right about that. The building has one back there.” She pointed toward the leftmost corner. “But it hasn’t been used for years, so I’ll have to ask Cal how to handle that.”
“I thought he carved benches.”
“Oh, he can pretty much build or renovate anything.”
Hopefully the guy gave a family discount, because she was going to need it. “Probably take a few months to get everything squared away.”
Greer whirled around. “Months? I don’t think so. I’m thinking a few weeks max. Less, if possible.”
“Are you seeing the same barn I am?” Even as he asked, he started to envision it. The place had a rustic sort of appeal that Texans loved—the barnwood, the simplicity, even the plywood floor. The sound of craftspeople using tools and customers chatting. The scent of oil paints and wet clay and leather.
“I’ll admit it’s rough right now, but all it’ll take is some hard work.”
“And a shitload of money.” Maybe that wasn’t a problem with the Prophecy Boot Company behind her.
“I’ve got some savings.”
Yeah, so did Alex. But he needed the work from PBC to top off his stash. Then again, he wasn’t thinking of taking a dilapidated barn and trying to turn it into a place that would attract people eager to spend money. A little spot in an industrial area—one with doors that hung straight—would be fine for him. Not sexy, but it would be functional.
Still, he’d be a complete dick if he didn’t discourage this woman from blowing her life savings on what could bea monumental failure. “Don’t you think it’s too far from town? Would people really drive out here to shop?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
Obviously she’d never had her life go from sugar to complete shit. “Because the other stores are on the main street through town.”
“If I build it, they’ll come,” she said, waving a careless hand.
Was the woman supremely confident or stupid? “Building a business isn’t that easy. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it all come true.”
She studied him. “You said you were taking a risk by coming to Prophecy. Isn’t that what you’re trying to do, make your dreams come true?”
“Dreams?” He made a rough sound in his throat, and the compulsion to run his hands over his head in agitation swarmed him, but he settled for crossing his arms. “I’m not the kind of guy who can afford that kind of bullshit. I’m just trying to make a buck, make it in this world.”
Her gaze sharpened, as if she were slicing right into his soul. “Something messed you up good, didn’t it? Was it your family? Friends? A woman? I don’t think people are born this cynical.”
“I’m not cynical. I’m practical.”
“You’re a Debbie Downer.”
