Chapter 2 - What an Apology Could Not Buy
Caleb came to the shop the following morning carrying a folded umbrella and an expression Hannah recognized from emergency waiting rooms.
He was a man hoping the right words might change the facts.
“We’re not open,” she said.
Behind her, Elliot called, “The sign says nine.”
“The sign has never considered my feelings.”
Caleb remained on the threshold. “I can come back.”
Elliot appeared carrying a tray with three mismatched mugs.
“You can come in and answer questions.”
Hannah moved aside reluctantly.
The shop smelled of wood polish, old paper, and rain finding places it should not be. Clocks filled every wall. A little painted bird waited inside a house-shaped case above the till.
Caleb stopped beneath it.
“My grandmother had one like that.”
“They’re allowed to exist outside your family,” Hannah said.
“Hannah,” Elliot murmured.
“I’m being hospitable. I haven’t charged him admission.”
Caleb took the criticism without smiling. That helped, annoyingly.
He explained that Rowan owned the shipping yards behind the block and held options on several neighboring properties. Elliot owned his building. He had not sold it. The company’s proposal assumed agreements it had not yet secured.
“Then why erase us from the picture?” Hannah asked.
“Because the design team showed the plan management wanted.”
“Management being you.”
“Yes.”
Elliot placed a document on the counter. It expressed interest in discussing a purchase and temporary relocation. Nothing more.
“Your representative said signing meant I could hear the full offer.”
Caleb read it carefully.
“That’s what it says.”
“Then tell your people to stop describing my shop as a secured property.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “Who said that?”
“The man with the teeth last night.”
“Simon,” Hannah supplied.
Caleb photographed the document after asking permission, then sent a message requesting a correction to the project materials.
It was a small action. Hannah appreciated being able to watch it happen.
A drop of water landed on the counter between them.
Caleb looked up.
“May I arrange an assessment?”
“No,” Hannah said immediately.
Elliot looked offended. “It’s my ceiling.”
She turned toward him. “And I’m the one who’ll be climbing a ladder under it.”
Caleb set down his mug.
“You can choose the engineer. You can receive the report directly. If you want no involvement from me, I’ll respect that.”
Hannah folded her arms.
“There’s a community preservation group that offers initial assessments,” she said. “We’ll start there.”
“All right.”
No argument. No checkbook deployed like a master key.
That helped, too.
While Elliot searched for older roof invoices, Hannah led Caleb into the narrow back room.
“Why didn’t you tell me outside the restaurant?”
He looked at a photograph pinned above the desk: Hannah at seventeen, standing between her parents beneath a crooked graduation banner.
“I liked being the man who made you laugh. Once you named the shop, I realized telling you would change that.”
“So you let me leave with the wrong impression.”
“Yes.”
She had expected a polished excuse. The plain admission left her nowhere convenient to put her anger.
“That was selfish.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not getting points for agreeing.”
“I know.”
She looked away first.
Before leaving, Caleb gave Elliot his direct number and asked that any further purchase discussion go through an adviser Elliot chose.
Outside, Hannah followed him onto the sidewalk.
“My father is behind on taxes. That doesn’t mean he’s confused, helpless, or available at a discount.”
Caleb put his umbrella under one arm.
“I understand.”
“You should understand something else. You don’t get to date me while your company is negotiating over his building.”
He went still, then nodded.
“That’s fair.”
After he left, Hannah returned to the workbench. Elliot was examining the unfinished carriage clock through a magnifying lens.
“You like him,” he said.
“I like sleeping eight hours and affordable groceries. Neither has made an appearance lately.”
May you like
Her father chuckled, but Hannah did not. Liking Caleb had become the least useful fact in the room, and she wished her heart would stop presenting it as evidence.
Before her shift, she called her friend Marisol and described the visit. Marisol listened without interrupting, then asked whether Hannah had eaten. It was an irritatingly effective question. Hannah made toast, opened her calendar, and wrote down the engineer’s number before allowing herself another thought about Caleb’s eyes.
