Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

“What kind of problem?” Steve asked.

“Like we can’t get one,” Harlan said.

“What?” Steve looked at Ethan, eyes widening. “I thought you were condemning a bar and grabbing the license.”

Wow, that was a slanted way to phrase it.

“No, no, no.” Ethan took the time to reword the circumstances of coming by the license in a legal context, if for no other reason than to ease his conscience. “I can’t grab anything until it’s available. Until the owner fails to pay the renewal fee or the company goes bankrupt or closes. I have an approved application on file with Alcohol Beverage Control and my contact there”—the guy he delivered free beer to every week—“promised to call me the minute this one becomes available.”

Steve leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms. “So what’s the problem?”

“One of the daughters who inherited the bar is back in town, trying to decide what to do with it.”

A troubled hum rolled from Steve’s throat.

Harlan pointed at Steve. “Exactly.” He looked at Ethan. “He gets it.”

“She’s only got a day left to file the papers,” he reminded Pops. “And there is no way in hell she could pull everything she needs together in that time. No way she could have gotten an architect or an engineer or a designer or a contractor on board that fast. She’s not on my schedule, and my calendar’s booked. It’s not going to happen.

“She’s smart enough to realize just how big a job it is and the risk she’d be taking. But she’s also proud and stubborn. She’s just taking her sweet time to make peace with the hard decision.”

And Ethan was both ticked and disheartened by the fact that she wasn’t allowing him in on that process. While at the same time growing sick over the fact that he needed her to suffer that loss so he could find his success.

Harlan pointed at Ethan but spoke to Steve. “That right there is the face of denial.”

Ethan heaved an exasperated sigh, took the plans from Steve, and thanked him.

They were at the door when Steve said, “Have you offered to buy it from her?”

Ethan turned. “In our county, that license would go for at least a hundred grand. We don’t have that kind of money.”

“There are a lot of people out there who do. One of my clients, for instance. He’s got a dozen projects going at any one time. Dabbles in a lot of different venues as a silent investor, always looking for a place to sink some cash for tax benefits, but doesn’t want to get involved in the business. Doesn’t want to be tied down. He also happens to be a craft beer lover.” Steve lifted his shoulders. “Just an option. I can talk to him for you if you want. See if he’s interested.”

The information hooked a desperate corner of Ethan’s brain. The one he was trying to fight off. “Thanks, Steve. We’ll keep it in mind.”

On the way to the truck, Pops’s hobble slowed him more than usual. And he was grouchier than usual, too.

“We’re not taking on another investor,” Harlan said, trailing behind Ethan. “I don’t trust no silent nothin’. Anyone who ain’t interested in working to earn their money don’t deserve any.”

“I don’t have a plan B here. If we lose this license, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“Huh. Could swear I just heard you sayin’ that wouldn’t happen.”

Ethan would have opened the passenger’s door for Pops and helped him in, but the man would probably chew Ethan’s arm off. So he climbed in the driver’s side, tossed the plans behind the seat, and turned the engine over, thinking about everything he’d spent months and months researching before seriously considering starting this business. And his frustration boiled over in a rant.

“Securing a location is always the first step. That’s what everyone said. Every book I read, everyone I talked to, the first piece of advice from every expert: location, location, location. First things first. You can’t do anything until you’ve got your location nailed down.

“So what did I do? I waited and I watched.” As soon as Harlan closed the passenger’s door, Ethan backed out and kept talking as he headed toward the highway and took the ramp north to Wildwood. “I’m patient. I’m a good boy. I go to work every day and help everyone else build their dreams. Then one day, it happens. That perfect place hits my radar. Right on the corner of Main and Vine with room to expand back and up. It doesn’t get any better.

“So I sink every penny I have and every penny you have into buying the damn thing. Jump through every hoop in existence to do it quietly so I can keep the whole thing under wraps until I’m ready to go at this full force, because I’m not a millionaire like some people. I can’t just buy the property outright, then buy a nonexistent liquor license, quit my job, and break ground.

“So I brew my beer on the side, build my customer base, and save and save and save, waiting for the day the Harts let their renewal lapse, knowing, knowing, not one of them plans on coming back to town.

“And then, this shit happens.”

He was yelling now, and he didn’t care. He was angry. Angry that his family wasn’t the kind of family who would support him. Angry his father was such an ass. Angry Austin was such a prick. Angry he’d taken his grandfather’s money for that land. Angry he’d believed in this damned idea in the first place. Angry Delaney was avoiding him. Angry he gave a damn.

And angry that he couldn’t think of a way to make this right even after Delaney demolished the bar.