Rance leaned forward.
His expression had changed.
The amusement was gone.
So was the confidence he had carried into the restaurant.
He looked at the contract.
Then he looked at me.
"How much do you want?"
The question came out quickly.
Almost automatically.
I stared at him.
For nine years, he had paid rent to the company named on his lease.
For nine years, he had believed the property belonged to somebody else.
Now that he knew I was the owner, his first question was about money.
I wasn't surprised.
But I was disappointed.
I looked at the amount on his offer.
One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
I thought about the property manager's email from the previous Friday.
I thought about the condition of the roof.
I thought about the improvements along Main Street.
I knew the building was worth considerably more than what Rance had offered.
But I wasn't ready to discuss a sale.
I hadn't been ready when the email arrived.
I wasn't ready now.
"I haven't decided to sell it," I said.
He frowned.
"But I made an offer."
"I saw it."
"One hundred and eighty thousand. Cash."
"I can read, Rance."
Jessie looked down at her plate.
I caught the small movement at the corner of her mouth.
She was trying not to smile.
Rance didn't appreciate my answer.
He shifted in his chair.
"I thought you wanted to get rid of it."
I looked at him.
"Why would you think that?"
He didn't answer.
Perhaps he remembered the way he had described the building.
Perhaps he remembered telling people nobody else wanted it.
Perhaps he remembered how he had laughed about the company name.
Whatever he remembered, he didn't say it.
I looked at the contract again.
He had made an offer based partly on the roof.
The roof did need attention.
I knew that.
Owning a building wasn't the same as owning a perfect building.
There were responsibilities.
There were repairs.
There were things that needed to be handled before they became expensive problems.
I had spent years learning that.
But a roof needing work didn't make the building worthless.
And it certainly didn't make me desperate to sell.
"I'll speak with the property manager," I said.
Rance shook his head.
"Why do you need to speak with her? You're the owner."
I looked at him.
"Because that's how I've handled the property for nine years."
He seemed to find that difficult to accept.
Maybe he had expected me to become a different person the moment he learned the truth.
Maybe he thought I would suddenly start discussing the building with him.
But I had a system.
The property manager handled the lease.
She handled the communication.
She dealt with the ordinary business.
I didn't intend to abandon that arrangement because Rance had discovered who was behind it.
He looked at Vickie.
She was quiet.
Then he looked back at me.
"So you're not selling?"
"Not tonight."
He seemed dissatisfied.
I understood.
He had arrived with a signed offer.
He had expected a quick conversation.
Perhaps he had even imagined celebrating the purchase before leaving the restaurant.
Instead, he had discovered that the seller wasn't some distant company.
The seller was sitting across from him.
And she had already rejected his offer.
I didn't know whether he had planned to tell people about the purchase the next morning.
I didn't know what he had told Vickie before they arrived.
I wasn't going to guess.
I only knew that the decision belonged to me.
RJ finally spoke.
"Can we please have Mom's birthday dinner now?"
His voice was gentle.
He wasn't angry.
He sounded tired.
I reached over and touched his hand.
"That's what I want, too."
For the first time that evening, Rance didn't have an immediate answer.
I looked toward the cake.
The candles were still waiting.
And I decided I wasn't going to let the contract take the rest of my birthday.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: When the Candles Were Finally Lit, I Realized I Had Spent Years Waiting for Someone Else to Recognize My Worth
The Birthday Toast That Made Twenty People Laugh, and the One Secret I Had Kept for Nine Years
Part 10 of 20
