Page 19 of Blame it on the Bet
“Mr. Truitt—Bryan—you seem to me to be a decent sort. But keep in mind that while you see O’Halloran’s as property—a thing—the girls see it as something far more personal and valuable. Consider my advice…until Hennessy feels you respect what the pub means to them emotionally, she won’t even listen to what you have to say—no matter how reasonable or generous your offer may be. Simply put, this isn’t about the money.”
I think my mouth might be hanging open. Here I thought this woman was a sweet simpleton, and it turns out she’s got a keener instinct than a lot of professional developers I know.
“Thank you, Miss Lucy. That is very sound advice, and I will absolutely take it into consideration.”
She smiles broadly and gets to her feet again. “Now, let’s get that coffee topped up for you…”
Chapter Nine
HENNESSY
“Hennessy, will you be here to accept the delivery today?” our cook, Donovan Douglas, asks as he sets an egg sandwich on the bar next to Father Romance’s cup of coffee.
I’m slipping on my coat as I shake my head.“I’m headed to the bank, and I’m not sure how long I’m going to be. Jameson said she’d swing by in an hour or so, just in case.”
“So…the bank,” Father Romance says, not bothering to look up from the newspaper. “What does that mean? Do you think they’ll help you keep the pub?”
“I hope so, because I have no intention of letting my father’s legacy end up in the hands of a sleaze like Bryan Truitt.”
He looks up and quirks a challenging eyebrow. “Now, that’s not what you really think, is it?”
I sigh heavily and slip onto the stool next to him.
“No, you’re right. He’s actually not sleazy at all. A little slick, maybe…but professional for the most part. It’s just that I feel as if I need to hang on to every bit of anger I have if I’m going to fight this guy and win. He has too many resources, and I don’t think he’s going to scare easily.”
He seems to consider this as he chews his eggs. “Are you doing what you feel is right?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I think so. But there is something to be said for the ‘take the money and run’ approach. If I fight, we could lose everything. I’ve got so many conflicting emotions going on. Pops and Mama, the money, our futures… I can’t sort out what’s what anymore.”
Father Romance reaches over and puts a warm hand on my wrist.
“You’ve left something—or rather, someone—out of that equation.”
I look at him, perplexed.
“You, Henny! What do you want to do? You know full well that saving the pub means you’ll have to make some serious decisions about your own future. Will you stay in Minneapolis and keep working as an attorney, or will you move back home? These are big, big questions looming in your mind, I’m sure.”
I stare at him, feeling the familiar prick of tears building in my eyes.
“You know…” I begin, not quite sure where I’m going with that sentence. “I think you’ve always known that law school wasn’t my first choice.”
“I do know that, child. Anyone with eyes could see that plain as day. Anyone but Jack O’Halloran, that is. And you made him so proud. But he’s gone now, Hennessy. It’s time for you to make your own decisions.”
I start to sniffle, and the tears start to fall.
“I know what I want to do. But it feels wrong. After so much work and time and money…”
“You want to come home.” He finishes the thought for me.
I nod dumbly, using a napkin to dab at the dampness on
my face.
“The Quakers speak of ‘listening to the light.’ You see, they believe that God is within all of us, and if you just take the time to stop and listen, He’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“What, like meditating?” I sniff.
“Sort of. Just be still and breathe and…listen.”
