Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“One bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole tree, Worth. It’s a good house. And this is a good coffee shop.” My voice came out low and urgent. I’d known he’d bring up selling as soon as the espresso machine broke, but now he had new ammunition. “I know you’re ready to sell this off to the developer, but places matter. History matters.”
“And so do fresh starts,” he countered, pacing to the far corner of the small room. Spinning on his heel, he pointed back toward the front of the coffee shop. “If you sell, you can likely afford better equipment in your next location.”
“I don’t want a next location.” I didn’t make the mistake of reaching for him again, instead trying for a calming tone. “I warned Ellie about coming back. I’ll keep you safe.”
He shook his head. “There’s no hiding in Safe Harbor.”
“Worth—”
He cut me off with a disgusted noise. “This is why I should take the job offer.”
“What job offer?” A prickle raced down my spine, making my abs quiver and knees clench.
“An old professor of mine from Stanford wants me to come be a teaching assistant for a class in the fall. A way to redeem my reputation, get back into finance, maybe even work for the SEC.”
“Oh.” The weight of that one syllable was almost more than the little storeroom could hold. I supposed I’d always known I couldn’t hold him here, but I’d hoped. And I’d for sure thought I’d have more time. “I see.”
“You could come.” He reached for my hand, but for the first time ever, I didn’t reach back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Worth
“You could come.” As soon as I said it, I knew it was the solution to all my issues. Except Sam wasn’t nodding. Or reaching for my hand. Or doing anything other than looking like I’d gut-punched him, complete with stricken expression and hunched posture. “Sam?”
“You want me to leave Safe Harbor?” His voice was soft, harsher than a whisper but lower than his normal volume.
“To be with me.” I put my hand down since he clearly wasn’t about to grab it. “You’ve said yourself there’s a need for youth intervention services all over. And if you sell the building, the charity would have funds to start up elsewhere. Or expand.”
“But this is where I want to make a difference.” Sam’s eyes were wide and dazed. Swallowing hard, he grabbed another water from the shelf, this one for him. “Where I can make a difference.”
“And you’ve done amazing. But maybe it’s time to think bigger? Think of all the good you could do in San Francisco.”
“What you’re really saying is it’s time to give up.” He stopped to take a long swig of water. “Don’t fight for the coffee shop, don’t try to make my house a home, don’t put down roots in the one place I’ve ever loved and wanted to be. This is my home, Worth.”
“I know.” My chest hurt, a deeper ache than heartburn. This wasn’t going to be nearly as simple as I’d hoped. “But it’s not mine.”
“It could be. It was at one time.” He fiddled with the water bottle label before staring me down. “Do you really want back into the career that was sucking your soul?”
“That’s a little dramatic.”
“Is it?” Sam scoffed. Setting the water bottle aside, he laced both hands behind his head as if restraining himself from shaking me. “When you arrived here, you were running on fumes: mentally, physically, emotionally, all of that. And you’ve done nothing but complain about how shallow and fickle your colleagues in investing were. Why would you want back into a world that was literally making you sick?”
“I put my entire inheritance, the initial sale of the house, every cent I got after my parents…after into getting my degrees. Investing and finance is all I’m good at. And I made a damn good living from it once upon a time.”
Tilting his head, Sam gave me the most skeptical look I’d seen from him. “You can pull perfect espresso shots from a cranky, old machine. You teach confidence to nervous nineteen-year-olds. You handle chaos and customers. Your worth isn’t tied to your MBA or your earning potential.”
“But if I made more money, I could help you more. Fund more of your dreams?” I tried for a hopeful tone, but my words came out closer to begging.
“You don’t know me at all if you think I care about your salary. I care about you not operating in a world you hate.” Sam paced farther away, each inch another prick to my soul. I was losing him. “My dreams are rather simple, honestly. And they’re all here. If you truly wanted to help, you’d stay and help me fight for what matters.”
It’s you, isn’t it? You’re Worth Stapleton. The true-crime junkie’s voice still rang in my ears. There would be no escape if I stayed. How many others would come simply to have a look at me?