The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(9)
A few minutes later, we move from the new part of town to what reminds me of the start of a post-apocalyptic movie. Weeds sprout up between massive cracks in the sidewalks, and a blinking stop sign hangs at an angle. There might as well be a barbed-wire fence between the part of Sheet Cake we just left and the one we’re entering.
“And what area of town, exactly, did you purchase?” I’m afraid I already know the answer.
We bump over a train track, and Dad winces as the bottom of the Aston scrapes concrete. I see the actual town square just ahead of us.
A little TLC—is that what Tank said? This town needs a set of defibrillator paddles.
“I own everything from the tracks onward,” Tank says, infusing his voice with bright cheer. “Welcome to the historic town of Sheet Cake, property of yours truly! Park anywhere you like.”
He’s not joking, because all of the street parking is available. ALL of it. I could probably leave the Aston in the middle of this intersection, and it wouldn’t matter. But I pull into a space and get out of the car, meeting Tank on the nearest sidewalk. He smiles broadly.
Does he see something different than I do? Because what I see is a ghost town. Historic Sheet Cake is more like an empty pan with a few stale crumbs.
Tank throws a heavy arm over my shoulder. “Let me show you around.”
The grand tour of the town itself could be done right from this spot on the sidewalk, but I humor Tank and follow him. I’m sure in its heyday, whenever that was, this place was gorgeous. Most buildings have wide balconies on the second and third floors with wrought iron railings—except for a few places where they’ve fallen off, sitting on the sidewalk, ready to be slapped with a loitering ticket.
“Check this out!” Dad stretches an arm out toward the square in the center of town.
Where charm once was, now there is only knee-high grass and overgrown flower beds surrounding a white gazebo that’s falling over. I can see the appeal—if I’m imagining the after photo, not … this. It’s like the abandoned film set for Hart of Dixie and Gilmore Girls and Sweet Magnolias all wrapped up in one.
And DO NOT JUDGE ME for knowing all those shows. I am a man comfortable with his love of small-town drama with a heavy pour of romance.
I squint, trying to imagine what this place would take to fix up. I could totally imagine living in a renovated, loft-style apartment above one of the storefronts. It could be kind of cool, if the town weren’t so dead.
The only signs of life are at the end of one block, where there’s a white-columned municipal building next to a library. Both are open, according to Tank, though I’ve yet to see a single person entering or exiting either. And I’ve been looking. Because that dumb, optimistic part of me keeps hoping I’ll see Lindy coming around a corner.
“Do you get to be mayor?” I deadpan.
“There's already a mayor,” Tank says. “He’s the one who sold me the place.”
Is that something mayors can even do? All of this is so bizarre.
“I may not be mayor, but I do own all these businesses—”
I stare around us. WHAT businesses?
“—and properties. Everything you see here. See those grain elevators and the warehouse? That’s where I thought Dark Horse could make its home.”
He points to the end of a street where I can see hulking metal buildings that look a lot like—
“The Silos in Waco,” I say, shaking my head. “I was kidding about Joanna Gainesing the place. Have you OD’d on The Fixer Upper?”
Dad laughs, the sound echoing on the empty street. “You can be the Chip to my Joanna.”
I stare. “I cannot begin to tell you the number of things wrong with that statement. Except for the part where I get to be Chip. I like that man.”
“Of course you do. He’s like your long-lost brother.” Tank puts his hands on his hips. “Anyway—what do you think?”
I have a lot of thoughts, and they’re all scrambling around in my brain like eggs in a pan. Lindy is taking up a lot of real estate, but I’m trying to give this idea a chance. I’m scared to ask Tank how much he paid for this town. It would take far more than a seasoned pair of HGTV house-flippers to revitalize it. I can recognize the potential, but through a haze of dollar signs.
It’s impractical, but I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Maybe even excited.
What would Lindy think about me moving here and fixing up her town? Would I be able to spend time here without feeling haunted by her ghost and the ghost of my mistakes? Does she ever come back to visit her mom?
“Let’s discuss over food,” Tank suggests.
“Is there food to be had here?”
“You’ll see.” Tank walks away from me, and I follow on the heels of his worn cowboy boots.
We head down the one side of a street we haven't crossed yet. A moment later, I see a neon Open sign flashing red and blue in a wide glass window.
Well, what do you know? There is a business open in Sheet Cake. A business. Singular. One.
A bell jangles as Dad opens the door. I smell the diner before I get a good look. Bacon, pancakes, strong coffee. And is that … salsa? The scent is half classic greasy spoon and half Tex-Mex, and I am here for it. My stomach immediately roars awake, pleased by this new development.
“Simmer down,” I tell my growling midsection, following Dad to red vinyl stools at a linoleum counter. A short woman with sharp brown eyes and a flower in her white hair slaps down two menus, grinning like she’s in on a secret we’ll soon find out.