Speakeasy (True North #5)(78)

The lawyer takes a breath, and I notice that May is gripping my hand.

“‘Alec Rossi may do as he pleases with the mill property, including selling it for a profit. There are no further restrictions on its use. But I trust Alec to find a suitable use for the mill, if one exists. While Alec does not consider himself to be a brilliant business man, I beg to differ. He has created a place where people gather together as neighbors, instead of staying home and staring at their phones. He’s built a business where locals and tourists mingle together, and a place where local products are prized above all. I’ve spent many happy hours on Alec’s barstools, and nothing pleases me more than to help him in this way. Also, any guy who brings muffins to an old man in the hospital knows that community is worth fighting for.’”

May is scribbling on her legal pad, but I can’t read her scrawlings. It might be because she’s not left-handed, or it might be because my eyes are suddenly misty.

“Did you get all that, Mr. Rossi?” the lawyer asks.

I have to clear my throat before answering. “Yes, I did.”

“The final provision offers you mortgage terms at an eight-percent rate. You can probably do better at a bank, though. I’ll put this in the mail to you, and you can have your own lawyer review it.”

May’s hand squeezes mine again.

“Thank you, sir,” I choke out. “I’ll get busy thinking about when and how I’d like to execute the purchase.”

“You have nearly a year. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I thank him one more time, and May disconnects the call. “Wow,” she says.

“Wow,” I echo.

Griffin chuckles behind me. “I like your chances of buying it a lot better now.”

So do I. “But Tad must be hating life. That’s some leg up Hamish just gave me.”

“True enough. Hmm. If it was me…” Griffin trails off.

I turn around and wait for him to finish the thought.

“Maybe you should consider going halfsies with Giltmaker?” Griffin shrugs. “Make it a joint venture. That way you don’t have to start a brewery from scratch, but you don’t have to put in cash, either.”

“Yes!” May agrees, straightening up in her chair. “Your equity in the building is your investment.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” And I fucking hate that I have to say that. I’m still the dumb guy in the room.

Except Hamish hadn’t seen it that way.

“The building is worth two-fifty, or something like that, right?” May says. “Except you alone can sign it over to the co-owned business at one-seventy-five. That’s just as good as if you put in seventy-five thousand dollars of your own cash.”

“That’s when your uncle and Lyle kick in their cash,” Griffin says. “And I put in my paltry share. You’d end up owning a third or more of the entity without putting up a dollar.”

I’m following them now. Except for one problem. “But then I’d have to work with Lyle and Otto.”

“True,” May says. “But you’d co-own a brewery with Vermont’s most successful brand. And you’d get a say in what’s happening next door to your bar.”

“Excuse me while my head explodes.”

Everyone laughs. Even Griffin.

“May?” I take the pen out of her hand.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll take notes for you. I’ll type emails for you. But will you help me figure all of this out? How to propose a joint venture? I don’t think I can do it by myself.” Funny how easy it is to admit that if I’m saying it to someone I trust.

“Of course I will,” she whispers. “I can’t wait.”

I pull her into a hug, and she tucks her chin on my shoulder.

For once, Griffin Shipley doesn’t even make a rude noise.





Chapter Thirty





May


Ten days later I find myself in a tony bridal shop in Boston. I’m on a ridiculously comfortable pink chaise lounge, which is nice because I’ve been here an hour already and Lark has only made it through about a third of the dresses that they’ve pulled out for her to try on.

I can’t stop checking my phone. There’s no way Alec will be out of his meeting yet, but I keep staring at the screen nonetheless. Today’s the day he’s going to pitch his ideas to Giltmaker. We prepared for this for many hours, and I’m dying to know what they’ll say.

But I’m stuck here on a pink couch. And if the dowager who runs this place offers me a glass of champagne one more time, I might just take her up on it.

Actually, I really won’t. I’m doing well and feeling good these days. But if only the old bat would take a hint.

I sneak another peek at my phone. I open my email just in case Alec opted to write me there instead of by text…

Someone clears her throat, and I look up to see Lark standing in front of me in yet another big white dress.

“Whoops!” I say, setting the phone down. “That one is gorgeous.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like this waistline.” She gives me the side-eye.

“Did I?” Standing up, I squint at the dress. They are really beginning to blur together by now. “What do you think?” I ask, hoping she’ll bail me out.