Page 72 of Do It With Me

CHAPTER 31

ELLORA

On Monday morning, I was still riding the high from Second Story Sunday. The shop smelled like coffee and the lemon oil I’d used when I’d cleaned before the market. Rays of sunshine spilled through the windows onto the mismatched rugs and crowded shelves.

Somehow, the air in here didn’t feel heavy today. It felt alive.

The market had been a huge success. Massive, actually. It had surpassed all my wildest expectations and I knew it had made a huge difference to the morale around here.

Most of the locals had sold out by noon and the rest hadn’t been far behind. Even my own booth—manned by some friends so I could keep the market running—had done better than I’d expected.

I’d wound up spending half the night here in the store, restocking candles and labeling new soaps until my fingers cramped, but I didn’t care. Every shelf was restocked, my own as well as the ones for neighborhood goods.

It had been bittersweet, joy and grief tangling together in a way I hadn’t learned how to separate yet. There had been moments when I’d wanted to cry, standing there watching everyone laugh, talk, and eat, and then I’d felt guilty for being happy when Mom wasn’t here to see it, but deep down, I really believed she would’ve loved it.

It was just too bad that Holden had been acting weird. I’d really wanted to celebrate with him afterward. I’d thought we could grab some dinner, open a bottle of wine, and maybe talk about how he’d been right to push me to take more risks.

But he’d been quiet and distracted. He’d said he had to handle something for work, but he’d looked pale. Maybe he just ate something bad. One of the hot dogs from the street cart, maybe?

I’d had one too and I felt fine, but Holden was a lot fancier than me. Maybe his system had shorted out at the taste of cheap yellow mustard. Still, something about the way he’d said goodbye had felt off.

I pushed the thought aside as I straightened a display of glass jars near the front counter. It was early yet, the street outside quiet except for a delivery truck rumbling past, but for the first time in months, I had hope for the day ahead.

When I finally sat down at the counter with my coffee, I noticed the envelope. It must have been slipped through the mail slot sometime on Sunday, but things had been so busy around here that I hadn’t noticed it.

It was plain white, heavier than junk mail but thinner than a bill. The return address, however, made my stomach tighten. The Renewal Initiative.

I tore it open without dragging out the moment, stupidly hoping that maybe it was something else this time. An apology or an updated offer that didn’t feel like an insult, but no. It was the same thick paper, the same corporate logo stamped across the top, and the same pittance being offered for me to vacate the building.

The only difference this time was the tone. Previously, it had been arrogant, but at least it had contained the corporate bullshit version of niceties. This letter was a lot more final, and my chest constricted when I got to the reason for it.

They now owned the property. My hand froze halfway through my second sip of coffee. They what?

Mr. Karabekian had already sold to them. They must have paid up front for it to have gone through so fast. My heart started thudding so hard that it was painful, my fingers suddenly trembling so much that I had to put the cup down.

I stared at the words until they blurred, but no additional information jumped out at me. No explanations for how it ha’d moved so fast or what would happen if I didn’t agree. Once I gave up on that paragraph, I scanned the rest of the letter, but it was the same polished nonsense, phrases like urban renewal and community upliftment that sounded nice until you realized they meant demolition and displacement.

There was even a little line near the bottom that made my blood simmer. Please sign and return by the end of the month to ensure a smooth transition process.

Smooth for who? Not me, that was for sure. Especially not at the price they were offering to pay to buy me out. I flipped the page over.

Once again, they’d highlighted where I should sign, bright orange stickers pointing the way like I was too dense to find the dotted line myself. Well, they can shove their stickers up their noses.

I had no intention of letting go of my lease early. A number was listed near the bottom of the letter for inquiries regarding my offer. I grabbed my phone.

Fine, I’ll contact them. It’s time to tell them exactly what I think of their initiative and let them know they have a problem on their hands. I will not go gentle into that good night.

I punched in the number and pressed call, my heart hammering with a mix of nerves and fury. After only two rings, a bright, chirpy voice answered.

“Langton Development. How can I direct your call?”

As soon as I heard the name of the company, my entire being froze. It landed like an ice ray that had been aimed right at my soul. My heart stuttered, but I cleared my throat, my mouth suddenly dry. “I’m sorry. I, uh, I think I called the wrong number. I was looking for the Renewal Initiative, but⁠—”

“Oh, Mr. Langton’s assistant is who you’d like to speak to, then,” the woman said easily, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Wait.” My voice cracked as my eyelids slammed shut. “Holden Langton?”

“Yes, ma’am. That project is his baby. I’m not sure if he’s available right now to talk himself, but his office will have whatever information you need.”