Popster uncorks the champagne and fills the three plastic flutes. He raises his and makes a toast. “To the best granddaughter a man could ever have.” His voice wavers, and I see his eyes moisten. I go to the other side of the table and give him a giant hug, ignoring my glass of champagne.
Then he looks me in the eye.
“Take that check, Aspen, and go deposit it right now. Then, get your butt down to that real estate office and make this happen,” he orders. I scoot out of the booth, check in hand, and I run to grab my purse. Trying not to burst out in tears.
Out in the parking lot, I jump up and down.
I’m getting my hotel!
“Oh, my god! It’s really happening!” I say, utterly failing to control the delirious joy in my voice. “I have to go to the bank! I have to go… buy a freakin’ hotel!”
The whole time I’m driving to the bank, exhilaration saturates my brain like the bubbles in the champagne.
I pull into the bank parking lot and park my car. As I walk inside, I call Becky and Charlie at the real estate office and fill them in. Becky squeals in delight, and I hear Charlie in the background say, “I still have the paperwork we filled out from last week! I’ll call The Rose Hotel and let them know it’s a go!”
When I’m done at the bank, I drive home, and my unrestrained smiling is making my cheek muscles sore. I feel weightless, as all the tension, concerns and worries from the past six months evaporate from my body. I feel as if fairies have filled me with glittery pixie-dust and rainbow light.
I want to celebrate!
I want to make this moment last!
I want to share the news!
And as I pull into my garage, Ryker’s handsome face suddenly pops into my head. He’s been a regular at the bistro the past few days, trying to wear me down, asking me to go out with him every chance he gets. I just smile, genuine more often than not, but I don’t waver. I keep turning him down. I don’t have the time, and my head keeps reminding me that men are not on the menu right now.
Yesterday, just to annoy him, I sent Jessica to serve him. Which she was more than happy to do, as much for the eye-candy as the hundred-dollar bill, “keep the change” tip he always leaves. She suspects there’s something more between us, and she’s peppered me with questions, but I just give her vague, meaningless answers. She seems satisfied. Not only does she know me better, but she’s also too busy with her nose buried in her phone to know what’s going on around her.
But, feeling invincible from my incredible news, I pull out my phone to share it with Ryker. My fingers itch to type the message. I start it quickly: Hi, Ryker! Great ne… but then my fingers slow down. I stare at my half-written message and softly exhale.
Why do I want to tell him this? So he’ll stop pestering me about investing?
No, I want to tell him because I want someone to share my news with, someone who will appreciate it. Someone special.
A sad smile plays on my lips, and I close the app. I put my phone back into my purse. It doesn’t make any sense to tell him. I don’t have anyone special to share this news with. I drop my chin to my chest. For the first time, I feel lonely.
Besides, I’m sure he’ll hear about it, eventually. There’s no reason to celebrate with him. It would only lead him on, give him hope. And I’m about to be busier than ever. I lift my head and pull my shoulders back. I don’t have time for celebrating. I punctuate my determination with a single firm nod. It’s convincing. Almost.
I head into my condo and inform Dagny that she’ll soon be moving, and my smile turns more genuine, because I’m officially closer to my goal of independence. But I still have to prove myself with the bed-and-breakfast. There’s a lot of work to be done, now, more than ever. I won’t have time for anything but work. I’ll be lucky if I find four hours a day to sleep. Yeah, I definitely don’t have time for a man.
Even one that, I admit, makes me hot and jittery.
I walk to the refrigerator for a celebratory glass of rosé. I raise my glass and pause to count my blessings. Then I drink it.
Alone.
12
Ryker
I’m eager for our round of golf today. I need Dad’s advice. He’s the one I go to when I seek important counsel.
The sun is high, and there is just a smattering of clouds in the sky as I pull my car into the Spring Hills Country Club parking lot. I get out of the car, and the pungent smell of fresh-cut grass hits me. As I’m crossing the parking lot, I catch the eye of someone practicing in the sand trap next to the putting green, and he scurries out of it, stomps the sand off his shoes, and jogs over to me.
“Hey, Ryker, how are ya man?” He holds out his hand to shake mine, but I don’t recognize him.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask, putting my hand out.
“Bobby. Bobby Johnson. I work with Sax. You and I met last year at one of his barbecues.”
“Oh. OK.” I keep walking.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey, I wanted to chat with you for a second. Mind if I walk with you?” he asks, and it seems I don’t have a choice, but the hair on the back of my neck is already standing up.
“Sax said you’d had some luck with Bitcoin, and so I’ve got this idea. I’m about to put it on Kickstarter, b…”
I cut him off right there. “Hey, Bobby, I’m sure it’s a good idea, but no
