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“You mean your stereotypical depiction of old, ugly, green-faced witches wearing pointy hats and staring into bubbling cauldrons?” Maggie asked, buying herself some time. Once she asked, there was no going back. For better or worse, she was putting her hopes on the line and asking for help.
“If you get close enough, they cackle, too.” He nodded his head, and she rolled her eyes.
“Four, why do you do that? You know it bothers them.”
“I think you just answered your own question, Mom.” Four pointed at Maggie and beamed his approval at her. Alison shook her head and sighed at him.
“Well, your father might not have any appointments today, but I have a showing in about an hour.” Alison looked at her smart watch and then at Maggie. “What do you need, sugar?”
“A loan.” Maggie forced out the words.
Her dad shifted in his chair and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “How much do you need? I don’t have a lot on me.” He thumbed through the bills. “But there’s a stash at home.”
“More than that, I’m afraid.” Maggie twisted the napkin in her hand, but stopped when her mom touched her.
“Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“Oh, gosh, no,” she said, realizing her parents were running worse case scenarios in their heads. The downside of having your dad own a successful insurance agency was that he knew the risks of everything. “I want to buy Brewster’s. Jack and I have talked about it. I’ve scrimped and saved, and the baking competition money was going to pay for the lawyer and the down payment, but well, that didn’t happen.”
“What about after the down payment?”
“I’ve run the numbers. It will be tight, but I can finance the debt from operations.” Her parents sipped their coffees and looked at each other, doing that weird, silent, couple conversation thing they always did. The kind that never turned out good.
“Is there something else you’d rather do?” her mom asked.
“No. Why?”
“It’s just that two of our tenants in Old Town also run coffee shops, and I know they’d be in a better position if Brewster’s wasn’t around.”
“But Brewster’s is around and it’s the most successful coffee shop in the area. I can do this. I want to do this, and I’ll be good at it. And it won’t be the same old Brewster’s. I plan to finish the kitchen so I can start selling baked goods. No more selling stuff in cellophane wrap. And I’d like to stay open later on the weekends several times a month for open mic nights. Maybe coordinate with Get Lost to drive some sales to them, too.” Maggie’s hands flew as she described her vision. “And change the logo—”
“What? Lose the seventies hippie vibe?” Her dad winked and reached for another cupcake.
“You certainly seem excited by this,” her mom said.
“I am. I’ve thought about this for a long time, and I’ve been working toward it. If I’d won the contest, I wouldn’t be asking you.” If her future weren’t at stake, she would find her parents’ silent communication amusing. Her dad’s eyebrows bounced, and her mom’s lips quirked. “I’ll pay you back. I’m good for it,” she promised.
Her mom’s shoulders softened. “Oh, honey, we know you are.” Alison glanced at Four and he dipped his head. Hope fluttered in her chest. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure. This is what I want,” Maggie said.
“Okay, kiddo. I’ll text you our lawyer’s contact information and I’ll give her a heads up. But”—he leveled her with his infamous dad-look—“you need to pay us back in ten to fifteen years, we get coffee for life, and you’re leaving these cupcakes here. Deal?” he asked, sticking out his hand.
“You drive a hard bargain.” Maggie placed her hand in his. The same hand that had held hers when she’d learned to walk now held it again as she started a new adventure. This is really happening!
***
“You won!” Lucas’s niece propelled herself at him and he caught her with a gentle oof. He repositioned her to his other hip, the one that didn’t have a bruise the size of Texas on it.
“You sound surprised,” he said, giving her a mock frown.
“It was close until that guy with the ball leap-frogged over your back and you won!” She swung her arms wide, almost smacking his parents as they stood in a tight circle. That guy with the ball was Bash, and Lucas would have to tell Coach Shockley about his niece calling it leap-frog. The father of twin tweens and a newborn baby boy would get a kick out of it. He hoped.
“Come here, princess,” his brother, JJ, said, pulling her out of his arms. “Your uncle looks like he’s about to drop you.” At the threat, the little girl released her death grip on Lucas’s thick neck and went to her dad. “Good game. Was it as tough as it looked?”
“Tougher,” Lucas said, looking forward to slipping into the backyard hot tub Cal’s parents had recently installed at their rental unit.
“You’re on the road for the next few weeks, eh?” he asked, and Lucas nodded. He hated away games. Almost everyone did. “You’ll be home for Thanksgiving dinner, though, right?”
