And now we are standing in front of a one story building that looks like it should be condemned. All the windows are cracked, there’s dirt ground into every single crack and crevice, and the door is literally hanging by one hinge. As I stare at the place, a rat scurries out the front door. I’m sure there are plenty more where that one came from.
This place is horrible. It is not a good surprise. I feel like the blindfold was unnecessary.
“Oh,” I say. I’m trying to look happy, but it’s straining my acting skills.
“I know it doesn’t look great now,” he says quickly. “But I got it dirt cheap. Trust me, Rosie, this is a great location. I scoped it out, and there are no restaurants along I-93 for twenty minutes in either direction.”
“Mmm,” I say.
“I’m going to help you get it cleaned up,” he says, “and you’ll see, this place is going to be a huge success. I promise.”
“Mmm,” I say again.
He looks me straight in the eyes. “This is your dream. I’m going to make it happen for you.”
He sounds so sure of himself. I love Nick, but I think he overextended himself with this one. But I’ll go along with it. After all, what do I have to lose?
Nine Years Earlier
It feels decadent to be taking a day off.
It’s all I do anymore. Work. The restaurant opens for lunch, and I’m usually there till it closes late in the evening. I recently hired help so that I could at least have one night off, only after Nick bugged me to do it. I don’t trust anyone to do as good a job as I do, and also, I love being there. I love being in the kitchen of my own restaurant. It’s everything I ever wanted.
But today I have a day off, and Nick persuaded me to go to a local carnival. We rode on the roller coaster, then on the Ferris wheel, and now we’re sharing a giant blob of pink cotton candy.
“I forgot how good cotton candy is,” Nick says as he stuffs a big fuzzy wad of it into his mouth. “You should serve this in the restaurant.”
“Um, no.”
“You should. It will probably become your bestselling dessert.”
I give him the side eye. “I’m not even sure if you’re kidding.”
“I’m not!”
I’m still somewhat in disbelief over how successful our restaurant has become. I’m not going to lie—the first year was rough. It took forever to get Rosalie’s cleaned up and in condition to serve as a restaurant. Nick and I worked our butts off. We replaced all the windows, cleaned everything out by hand, bought all new kitchen appliances and furniture for the dining area. We invested a lot of money and a lot of labor. And for the first few months, I thought it was all going to be for nothing. I could count on one hand the number of customers on a given week. There were about twenty times that first year when I thought about giving up.
I’m not sure what Nick did, but our business picked up at the end of that first year. We started getting steady customers, and the second year, we broke even. The third year, we turned a profit.
Then a few months ago, Nick bought the two houses next door. One for us to live in and the other to turn into a motel.
So we’re going to buy a house together? I said when he told me his plans. That sounds pretty serious. We’re not even married.
Well, we should probably do something about that, he said.
The bastard had a ring in his pocket. I said yes. Obviously. I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.
We’re getting married next month. It will be a small ceremony at City Hall—just close family. Mostly because all of our money has been sunk into the restaurant and the new motel. And also, neither of us have big families. Plus, my parents don’t like Nick. My mother is never clear about why, but she always hints that I could do better, and she doesn’t think much of our restaurant either. That’s why I don’t speak to her much anymore. I’m not even sure she’s coming to the wedding.
“I’ll let the cotton candy idea percolate,” Nick says. “In the meantime, what do you want to ride next? Should we ride that one that turns you around in a circle in the air and then upside down?”
I look at the ride he’s pointing to. Just the sight of it makes my stomach turn. “No, thank you. How about…” I look over at a little black tent with the sign on the front with painted black lettering that reads, Fortunetelling, three tickets. “Ooh, I want to get my fortune told!”
Nick snorts. “You don’t need to go to a fortuneteller to know your fortune. I can tell it to you right now.” He presses his fingertips into his temples. “The future is saying you’re going to marry a super handsome business genius, and then you’re going to have five kids together.”