the counter. Behind me, the small bell over his door jingled as the woman made her exit.
“Hey, Mac,” Mr. Tanner said. “What’s up?”
“I want to buy your plane,” I said with a smile. “I crunched the numbers and am confident that I can make it work. I just wanted to let you know. I can probably be over in a few days with a check for you.”
“That’s great,” he said, scratching his chin with a frown. “There is another person interested in it. I’ve actually had several people ask, but when I shot the price at them, they backed away. But you and this other guy seem pretty determined. Looks like I might have something of a bidding war on my hands.”
I didn’t even bother trying to hide my surprise. “Who is the other person?” I asked, hating the way I sounded. I sounded spoiled and slightly fretted.
“Now, I don’t think I can tell you that,” Mr. Tanner said with a knowing smile. “I don’t want to start any arguments.”
“Have they offered money?”
“Yes. In fact, they offered to place a down payment on it until they could bring me the rest of the money. But I told them that there was no need in that.”
“How will you decide who to sell it to, then?” she asked.
“I really don’t know,” he said. “Mac, I’d love to just give it to you because I’ve known you for—what? Damn near fifteen years now. But I have to be fair. I may just have to sell it to whoever can come up with the money first.”
I wanted to be upset with him but just couldn’t bring myself to do it. He was trying to be fair; playing favorites in a business was a bad decision. My own father had taught me that a long time ago. Surely a man of Mr. Tanner’s background and stature knew that sage old rule of business, too.
I nodded and also made a point to let the disappointed look on my face linger a bit. “Well, I’ll get mine to you as soon as I can. Do you at least know when this other person is supposed to bring you the money?”
“No I don't. Of course, you have an edge now; they don’t know that there is another interested party. Maybe they’ll take their time.”
“Maybe…,” I said, but I was already deflated. The motivation I felt just a few minutes ago (after leaving the stuffiness of the bank, of course) was gone. It had been replaced by an emotion I couldn’t quite name. Whatever it was, it made me feel foolish and I didn’t like it at all.
“Thanks.” I turned towards the door.
“Sure thing,” Mr. Tanner said.
I left his shop, at odds with the fact that I was placing some of my anger on Mr. Tanner. He knew me well. He knew the crap I had gone through in the last few years with the divorce and nearly losing the shop. He knew I was a dependent and reliable person. It made me wonder who the other person was and what sort of relationship they might have with Mr. Tanner.
But that avenue led me towards a pity party…something I was not about to allow myself to do. So I did what I had been doing ever since I had suddenly found myself single again four years ago: I bottled it up and acted like I didn’t care. I went back to work and chiseled out the rest of the day, unable to get my mind off of that damned plane.
I locked the front door to the Pine Way at 4:59, giving myself the one extra minute of freedom as a reward. It had been a slow afternoon and after I had gone through inventory lists, swept the floors and restocked a few shelves, I had ended up leafing through a year old Glamour magazine that I had already been through a dozen times.
I went home quickly and was fortunate to catch green lights the entire way. The drive from the shop to my house was less than ten minutes and, truth be told, I could have walked it in twenty or so. But the urge to walk just hadn’t been in me that morning. It hadn’t been in me for a while, actually. Some girls could pull off the whole walker/runner thing. Some of them looked cute with their ponytails and pretentious little calorie counters on their wrists. Others just looked flat out sexy with their sheen of sweat