“It’s one hell of a setback,” I say and exhale sharply.
“Aspen,” Popster says. “Look at me.”
I drag my eyes to him. “Don’t doubt yourself. Winning is in your blood. You will make this happen. I know it. You’ll get creative. Have faith in yourself. In you.”
“Yeah,” I mutter to no one, just saying something to say something. I love Popster, but his words are too much for my heart to process right now. “You guys go home. I’ll finish up here,” I say, dragging my heavy body from the booth.
They know I want to be alone, so they grab their things and quietly head out. Mom kisses my cheek as she goes, and Popster gives me a tight hug. As he releases me from his embrace, he holds me at arms’ length and looks into my eyes. “Aspen, you are a force to be reckoned with. You want this, and you will have it. It’s just a blip. Delays happen for strange reasons sometimes. Something better will happen. Trust me.”
I wish I could believe him. Then, maybe I could swallow the iceberg in my throat, but all I see is more hard work into the unknown. I don’t mind hard work, and in fact, I love it. It keeps me focused and busy. But I prefer my hard work to go toward a clear goal. With a clear path… a strategy. Not just winging it, hoping things will somehow work out. Right now, I’m surrounded by darkness, and I can’t see which way to go. It’s terrifying, and it makes me afraid to take even one more step.
“Thanks, Popster.” It’s all I can manage.
After they leave, I sit down in the booth by the front door and stare at the wall. It wasn’t easy finding Robert, and I don’t know if I’ll find another investor now.
The grandfather clock chimes, and I realize I’ve been sitting here for an hour. I’m still numb.
I look around the diner and think about the struggles and triumphs we had launching this business. And as pissed, upset, and frustrated as I am at this turn of events, I decide… I will persevere.
Somehow.
If there’s one notable thing about me, it’s my adaptability. I’ve always lived my life taking the bull by the horns, dealing with challenges as they arise, and making my own way. This will be no different. I stand up and step away from the booth. But where will I come up with the $300,000?
I blow out a puff of air and throw my hair into a thick braid down my back. Well, those pies aren’t gonna bake themselves. And if there’s one thing that makes me feel better, it’s baking pies. And I don’t like wasting time, especially at pity-parties.
I put on my apron and head into the kitchen to make pies for tomorrow’s menu here at the bistro. On the way, I drop a ten-dollar bill into my swear jar for my reaction earlier to the news about Robert, and as pre-payment for the rest of the night.
I pull the last pies out of the oven and set them out to cool on the countertop, filling the place with smells of sweet berries and buttery crust. I take my time cleaning the kitchen, lost in thought, but I look forward to going home to my bunny, my couch, and a glass of wine.
The sun is setting, but a few dark clouds are rolling in. As I walk to my car, I take off my chef’s coat and sling it over my shoulder. I suddenly feel like I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone. Change of plans… I head to the Crossbow Dixie for a drink. I need it.
I walk inside the bar, and my eyes have to adjust. The place is dark and somber, matching my mood, and I’d swear you can still smell stale cigarette smoke from decades ago, before the non-smoking laws. This place is an icon, been here since before I was born, and it’s one of my favorites. It’s a place where I can go to think, be alone, but still have others around. I also like the simplicity of it—a bar and a small dining room with a few wood tables and worn, wooden chairs.
I cross the room to the bar and see an empty barstool. I step up onto it, and the bartender, Jerry, comes over. He’s a tall guy with receding hair and tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves, and he’s old enough to be my father. “Hey, Aspen. What can I get you?”
“Gin and tonic. Eight olives in a bowl. And a large bowl of popcorn.” He steps away to get the popcorn. “And nuts!” I call to his back.
He brings the popcorn, olives, and nuts and sets them down in front of me. While he’s pouring my drink, he says, “Congratulations on The Rose Hotel. I’m excited to see what you do with it.”
Shit. Might as well get this over with. Get the truth spreading around town now.
I sigh. “That’s no longer happening. At least, not now. Our investor pulled out. I’ll take my drink now. And the next one.”
“Oh, damn,” he says. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He furrows his eyebrows and hands the first drink to me.
“Yeah, thanks. You and me both.” I swallow half my drink and shove a handful of popcorn into my mouth.
“What are you gonna do then?” he asks, wiping down the bar.
I finish chewing and swallow the popcorn with the rest of my gin and tonic. I hold it up, signaling for the next one. He knows I’ll stop at two. “Find another fucking investor hiding under some rock, I hope.”
“Well, maybe it won’t take as long to find one this time,” he says, pouring me another drink. “Everyone in town was
