Page 29 of Lead Me Knot

Lauralee

It’s been so hard to keep my mom in the dark about what’s happening with the shop. As I sit here nervously waiting for the loan officer to return, I wish I could lean on her for support. Her advice would mean so much to me, but that would involve me telling her about my trouble.

Not even two weeks into owning the place, and I’m on the verge of losing it.

Shame claws at my insides. I haven’t slept well since Mr. Josten showed up with the news. Everything hinges on this loan, making every blink I take feel like a snapshot of Mom’s disappointment. The images of us packing up our livelihood haunt me. I can’t do this to her.

Through the glass, I see him returning with pronounced steps that echo under the crack of the door. I’ve been sitting for well over twenty minutes by myself, left to stress without a way to calm my nerves. I sit straighter upon his approach, worried I’ll be judged otherwise.

He’s already speaking like the conversation started outside the office. “. . . interest rate has gone up significantly. The current loan was paid off years ago, so it would be a brand-new loan a t today’s rates, not yesteryears.” He sits down behind his desk and taps the papers on the top.

“Which is?” I ask, feeling the need to hold my breath right after.

Looking over his wire-rimmed glasses, he replies, “The monthly payment would be detrimental to a business without substantial resources. As much as we appreciate the original loan being paid in such a timely manner, it’s been years since the shop has earned credit.”

“What about my personal credit? I pay my credit card and car payment on time every month.”

“I ran your credit as part of the initial analysis. It’s good, but there’s not enough history for us to take on that risk financially.

” It figures that not being in debt would be considered a bad thing.

I want to roll my eyes but restrain myself as he continues, “The rate for the shop, including the income for the apartment, isn’t something I’d advise, Ms. Knot.

” He leans forward and whispers, “I’ve known your mom a long time, since grade school.

I can’t in good conscience recommend continuing this process.

It will bury you in debt that I know, based on the numbers you submitted, would have the bank owning your shop in less than two years. ”

The disappointment that chokes my throat cuts off any air of rationale that I would have had under different circumstances. I move to the edge of my seat, placing my hands on the desk to hold on to something solid. “Please help me. What can I do? The apartment can be used as collateral, if needed.”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t work like that. The bank has made its decision.

” He sits back, managing to clasp his thick fingers together and rest his hands on his belly.

“If you were married or your mom was willing to be a cosigner and use her house as collatera l, that would change things. With good-to-great credit, the rate would be points lower and more in line with what you can afford on a monthly basis. Banks want their money back. It’s that simple. ”

“Simple . . .” I sigh as I stand. There’s no use wasting more of his time or mine. I need to come up with an alternative plan, and I only have ten days left to sign the new leasing agreement, or I’ll lose the chance to save it altogether. “Thank you.”

As I walk out his door, he says, “I wish I could do more for you. Good luck, and say hi to Peaches for me.”

I would, but then she’d know I was here begging for money.

Perhaps it's time to tell her. Would she cosign for me? Would it make a difference since she’s retired?

She doesn’t have a large savings account or money on hand, and I don’t like the way he went straight for her house like a tiger spotting his prey.

No. There is no way I’m risking losing that as well.

Walking out into the bright sunshine of the afternoon, I cup my hand over my eyes and look down the street. The bank isn’t far from the shop, though it’s not attached to the same building. I begin to walk back despite the ninety-eight-degree heat. Sweating is the least of my concerns right now.

A car passes, the horn blaring. Startled, I grab my heart as I watch it slow down. “Lauralee Knot,” Mrs. Marion calls through her open window as she comes to a stop.

I detour from the sidewalk and go to her car. “Hi, Mrs. Marion. How are you?”

“Well, there’s something I’ve been needing help with.”

“Sure, how can I help?” She waves me closer, then looks in both directions. There’s no one else even close to us and not even another car driving by, but I’ll play this game. I move closer and bend forward. “What is it?” I whisper co-conspiratorially .

“You and that Baylor Greene aren’t a thing, are you?”

Oh gosh, I should have known . . . I’m not one to lie, but I’m happy to beat around the bush with her. “What’s wrong with Baylor Greene?”

“You’ve always been such a sweet girl, and he’s . . . well,” she whispers, “a playboy. You don’t want to be tangled up in that mess. You need a good, sturdy husband to get you a plot of land and start a family.”

There are so many offenses to what she said that I’m not sure where to begin or how to even unpack it.

I’m going to take a breath and try to give her the benefit of the doubt that she has my best interests in mind.

But I’m still me and always need to poke back.

“First, I don’t need a husband. If I meet someone I want to marry, I’m all for that fairy-tale ending.

If I don’t, I’ll write my own.” Straightening my back, I look down at her, sympathy for her starting to run through me.

She’s alone. Lonely. Gossiping in town will probably be the highlight of her day.

“Second, you should know better than to judge someone from rumors. Even if it were true, can he not change?”

“You’re dating?”

“I just don’t think it’s right to hold stuff against people, especially when it never affected you personally.

” Good lord, I’m glad she doesn’t know about some of my extracurricular activities when Chris and I would go to Whiskey’s on Thursday nights to party.

I wasn’t shy about picking up a guy for the night, and there’s no shame if we’re both into it, which we were.

More than a month ago, I would have still believed the same about him. But as I’ve gotten to know him in and out of the bedroom, I think he’s just really good at playing the role that everyone wants to see him in. Oscar-worthy actually .

He’s not that guy. Well, he is that guy, or was . . . I think he’s changed, and her gossip isn’t going to deter me from trusting him.

She stares through her windshield when she sits back in her seat again. Glancing at me, she says, “You deserve someone who will love you to the ends of the earth, dear. You have a good day now, you hear?”

“I hear.” I step away from the car. “Bye.”

She doesn’t peel out, but I could sense her discomfort to get away because I didn’t give her what she came for: gossip and confirmation. I don’t owe her either and refuse to sustain that small-town feeding frenzy.

I cross Main, then hop onto the covered sidewalk that will lead me back to the shop.

Thinking of Baylor has me grinning wildly to myself.

I might even be blushing. He does that to me with no effort.

His swoony words and handsome face are enough to make my heart start racing.

How will this help my predicament, though?

It won’t, but he sure is a nice distraction, especially at night when we’ve been texting.

Just a few exchanges have been enough to keep my hopes high for this trip to NYC. It will be the first time we can live normally instead of hiding or sneaking around and just breathe.

Can I really?

There’s no way I’ll be able to enjoy the long weekend with this hanging over my head. What do I do?

I enter the shop and see my mom near the coffee machine. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey, did you get your errands done?”

“Yeah. Thanks for working.”

“My pleasure.” She comes to the front of the counter just as I slip behind it. “You sound down. What’s w rong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.” I set my purse on the back table, and when I return, I catch her straightening the pens because she even likes those to look a certain way.

“This weekend should be the pick-me-up you need.” Oh . . . and then lied to her. As if I couldn’t feel worse. “It’s been a while since you’ve gotten out of town for a few days. Austin with friends sounds like good fun.”

Telling her I’m flying to New York to spend time with Baylor isn’t something I’m ready to share. The long talk that would come with it is worth avoiding.

I’m making a mess of my life one lie and omission at a time. Is this really who I’ve become? The sex is fantastic. Oh God, I’m pathetic.

I’ve mostly been looking forward to spending time with him in a way we’ve not had the chance to when he’s here in Peachtree Pass.

That doesn’t ease the guilt of lying to my mom about the trip or what’s going on with the shop.

And don’t even get me started on looking my best friend in the eyes the other day and telling her I wasn't interested in anyone to protect Baylor’s and my secret.

It reminds me of when she was sneaking around with her husband. The parallels grow greater by the day.

“I’m looking forward to it.” That is something I don’t have to lie about.

“I can close the shop today. I’m here anyway. Why don’t you go pack and take a few hours off?” She already has a rag in hand to start her next task.

I don’t want to ruin her fun. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that offer.” Maybe a long bath will help me sort through my problem and come up with some solutions. I jump at the opportunity and hurry upstairs.

The water is fillin g the tub, I’m pouring a glass of wine even though it’s only four fifteen in the afternoon, and I put on some light jazz to try to relax. Panicking won’t get me to come up with clear answers to this issue.

I sink into the hot water and lean my head against the tiled wall. Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift before tackling the larger problems. The white wine is crisp and cool, a nice counter to the heat of the water.

My phone buzzes on the edge, and when I lift it, I smile. Answering after the second ring, I say, “I miss you.” If he can put himself on the line for me, I can do the same.

“Glad to hear I’m not the only one,” Baylor says. By his tone, I can imagine the grin on his face. The city is loud in the background. The sound of cars and a rush of wind fill the space behind him, setting the scene. “I can’t wait to see you again, Shortcake.”

I sink a little lower in the tub to cover my chest while holding the phone to my ear, not wanting to miss anything he says. I even hear him breathing and find comfort in the sound, knowing I’ll be back in his arms again. “Two days.”

“Two days.”

I sit up, almost knocking my wineglass off the side of the tub. The water splashes around as an idea begins to form.

Oh my God . . .

No, I can’t.

We can’t.

Can we?

I can’t risk my mom losing her house because of greedy venture capitalists in Austin. So that only leaves one other way to punch myself out of this corner. Marriage.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.