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“I think you’ll find this space has a lot to offer.” Sara’s heels clicked as they walked. “Don’t expect it to be perfect. It’s been closed for just over a year.”
Closer to two years. Travis had done his homework. This place had been one he’d wanted back then, before he and Mal had decided to leave the country and try their hand in Aruba. But the old owners hadn’t been ready to sell, and he and Mal hadn’t been ready to wait. Now, it was as if the universe was correcting a wrong.
“There’s a lot of charm under the dust and debris.”
“Debris?” Travis’s research hadn’t turned up debris. Just that after many years of struggling, the restaurant that used to be here had finally turned up its toes.
“Nothing that can’t be cleared out in a few days. A few weeks, at most.”
Travis decided not to ask any more questions about debris that may or may not require a semitrailer to haul it away, but to wait until he actually saw it. The fact that the building might not be as ready to move in as he’d hoped was a small obstacle in his path. Anticipation tingled over his skin. He just wanted to see it with his own eyes.
“The building was originally built in 1910 and the structure is sound. You’ll note many of the original details have survived.”
They clicked down the sidewalk, Sara still rattling off notes about the property. But Travis no longer heard them. He only had eyes and ears for his new bar. Or his soon-to-be new bar.
The door stuck even after Sara unlocked it and Travis had to lean his shoulder into it to open it, but that was all part of the charm. The interior was dim, only one of the overhead lights turned on when Sara flipped the light switch. There was dust everywhere and plenty of that debris Sara had mentioned, but Travis saw beneath it. Past the white paint peeling off the wood ceiling, past the scarred 36-foot bar and past the wicker chairs and round tables.
The space had once been a family dining establishment, one that provided a clean and cheerful ambience that particularly appealed to little girls. Or maybe it was the princess cakes they’d been known for. Mal had been wistful when she talked about them. She and her family had come to The Blue Mermaid for her birthday every year from the age of six on. Right up until it closed down two years ago. But the princess cakes and the clamoring little girls couldn’t pay the kind of bills associated with a restaurant in the area. A bar could.
Travis moved farther into the room and ran a finger down the bar. It only needed a good sanding and a few coats of varnish to shine once again. The wood ceiling would need to be scraped, but the massive pillars remained unpainted, worn smooth by years of customers and no doubt little girls who hung on as they twirled around the bases. If they weren’t part of the original structure, he’d be surprised.
The brick walls had been saved from paint, too, for which he was grateful. It was possible to scrape brick, but it was usually easier and cheaper to rip it out and start over. And since that was neither cheap nor easy, he was glad he wouldn’t have to.
He could see damage in a few places, but the spots would be easy to replace with the same materials and maintain the old-world charm that still permeated the space. He inhaled, sucking in some of that charm and the dusty smell of disuse. But there was no mildew, no dankness, no watery scent that indicated deeper, hidden problems that would be uncovered once he cleared out all the debris.
Sara had stopped talking and was just letting him absorb. Smart woman. There was nothing that needed to be said. This was his place. His paradise. His future. Okay, perhaps he was being a little melodramatic, but it felt big. He’d picked up and left home at eighteen. Did the same thing with Mal when they moved to Aruba. And now? He inhaled again. Third time was the charm. This was not a place he would be leaving.
He turned, his eyes searching for Sara in the low light, and as his gaze tracked across the room he could see what it would look like. The wood, polished to a perfect gleam so that it glowed, comfortable bar stools covered in leather, a mix of low and high tables, some couches. He envisioned something that looked as though it would be found in an English manor. A place where people retired after dinner for drinks and discussion.
“I’ll take it.”
* * *
TRAVIS LAY BACK on the bed in Owen’s guest room, smiling at the knowledge that The Blue Mermaid would soon be his. Sara was writing up the offer and meeting with the owners to present it to them tomorrow morning. He had a feeling that it would be good news, or at least an opening to negotiations.
He would have to rename it. The Blue Mermaid was a name still known in the city and didn’t indicate the kind of establishment it would become. But he had plenty of other things to do first. There were licenses to have approved, permits and renovations, staff and budgets and food and beer lists. Plus he had to find his own place to live, go visit his family, since he’d been back in the country for a few weeks now and still hadn’t made the trip home, even though flights there, including check-in and disembarking, took under an hour. And then there was Mal. Always Mal.
The apartment was silent since Owen wasn’t around. Travis never would have stayed if he had been. But Owen had moved into Grace’s apartment after the wedding, so his place was sitting empty, and he’d told Travis it would be good to have someone there until he and Grace figured out what they were going to do with it. Sell it, rent it, keep it for no good reason.
Owen had told him to use the master, but Travis didn’t want to get too comfortable and he didn’t want to take advantage. It was more than enough that Owen had offered the space. But Travis needed his own place. His own bed. He made a note to mention it to Sara tomorrow. She specialized in commercial property but there would definitely be someone in her office whose focus was residential and he trusted Sara to steer him right.
He crossed his arms behind his head and exhaled. Things were coming together. Really, except for the fact that Mal didn’t answer his phone calls, it was better than he could have expected.
His stomach growled, reminding him of the fact that there was nothing in the fridge but bottled water and he no longer owned a bistro where he could just wander into the kitchen and order something. But Vancouver was a city filled with great restaurants. All he had to do was push himself off the bed, head outside and go find one.
But he didn’t. He lay there, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the things he needed to do for his new bar until his phone rang, disturbing his planning. Travis smiled when he saw Owen’s name on the call display.
“How was the honeymoon?” Owen and Grace had spent the past two weeks in Fiji, no doubt having a lot more sex than he was.
“I am now officially a sex god.” And there it was.
“I’m sorry I asked. Oh, wait. I didn’t ask.” Travis would have given Owen a punch in the shoulder if he’d been in the room, but he was happy for his friend. Owen had changed from the light-hearted guy Travis had once known, but he liked this slightly serious version even better. This was an Owen he could talk to about things deeper than sports, deeper than the mechanics of cars or their workout routines. “So, how was it?”
“Very, very good.” Owen sounded relaxed. To be fair, Owen usually did, but this was a different kind of relaxed. A comfortable kind. “We’re thinking of retiring tomorrow and then going back.”
“Well, that does sound like you.”
“Want to come with us and open a restaurant?”
“I would.” Travis felt a burble of excitement. “But I’ve made an offer on a place here.”
“Congratulations. Where? When?”
The immediate interest reminded Travis of why he liked Owen so much. No matter what was going on in his life, he always had time for someone else. Travis thought