Page 222 of Spicy Ever After
“What if my plans fail and you lose everything?”
“I won’t lose everything.” She mimics me and then wrinkles her nose as though my assertion is simply ridiculous. “I have a lot more than that investment.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Hattie, I get that your family has wealth, but that?—”
Hattie scoffs and slaps on a bless-your-heart kind of smile.
“I’m not talking about money. I mean I have talent and creativity and plans of my own. Buying into your farm doesn’t change any of those.” Then she shrugs and that smile turns shy right before my eyes. “But it does secure something I want. Because I want you and your family to keep this place. And I know there are no guarantees, but I hope I get to be part of that family one day. And when the time is right—if we decide that it’s right—I want to live here and, one day, I want our kids to live here. And I like the idea of owning this place with you and your dad and your brother and his husband… I like the idea of belonging here.”
Her words knock me right in the chest.
All of it.
I want all of it.
But what she’s offering? The sheer amount of what she’s offering?
I can’t accept it. I don’t care what she says. I’d be taking advantage of her.
“I can’t let you do this.” I shake my head again. “It would feel like I was using you.” Who would I be if I did that? I wouldn’t need to worry about her family hating me because I’d be too busy hating myself.
“Using me?! HA!” She’s back to yelling in my face again, and this time she almost looks angry. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m the investment mastermind here, Farm Boy. This is venture capitalism. I’m using this—” she points to the ground, indicating the earth my family has worked for generations. “I’m going to make bank off your sweet potato vodka. Just you wait!”
My mouth twitches.
Because she wants to convince me she’s the one benefitting here.
And because she so clearly believes what she’s saying.
She so firmly believes in me.
And, I must admit, that doesn’t suck.
I lift a hand and let it hover between us, giving myself just a second to drink in this feeling. Of her faith in me. Of her wish to partner with me.
And then I let my hand drop to her knee and pat it. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more loved. But I can’t do it. I can’t accept. I’d never forgive myself if you grew to regret it.”
She blinks at me, and I think maybe I’ve finally gotten through.
But then her eyes narrow to slits and her voice comes out steely.
“Beck Olivier… you think I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I open my mouth to object—or at least explain, but she cuts me off.
“You have never—not once—underestimated me. It was the very first thing that attracted me to you. You—unlike everyone else—never treated me like someone incapable of making my own decisions. You’ve never doubted what I’m capable of.” Her nostrils flare and her jaw notches to the side, and it’s only in this instant that I realize how badly I just fucked up. “I resent the way my family underestimates me. But this? From you?” She shakes her head and swallows hard. “I’m disappointed. And I just learned that disappointment is way worse than resentment.”
And then—before I can ask for a do-over, take back my words, or try to explain—Hattie shoots to her feet, hitches her overnight bag onto her shoulder, and, to my surprise, heads for my front door instead of her Jeep.
“Hattie, wait?—”
“We’re not talking anymore tonight. I’m going upstairs.”
The screen door creaks and then slams behind her, leaving me out here in the dark.
Fuck.
FUCK!
