Chapter 19—Jackson
Anxiety gnawed at Jackson’s gut. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and out before gripping the handle of the door to the bank. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. This was not how any of this was supposed to go. But here he was—desperately hoping there was some sort of option available to him, and too embarrassed to tell anyone in his hometown what was really going on.
The bank was two towns over, in a larger city. He didn’t want word to get back to anyone that he was struggling to keep The Cozy Cup open. Word spread fast in Cherry Creek, and he just wasn’t prepared to face the humiliation of having failed.
“Mr. Blake?” asked a man in crisp dress pants and an unwrinkled white shirt.
“That’s me,” Jackson said. He brushed at his own pants self-consciously before reaching to shake the man’s hand.
“I’m Bill Smith,” the man said. He gripped Jackson’s hand in a firm shake. “If you’ll follow me this way, we can chat in my office.”
Mr. Smith’s office was big, but the oversized dark furniture that filled the space made it cramped and uncomfortable. The man took a seat in a high-backed leather chair, gesturing for Jackson to take the seat across from him.
“Well,” Mr. Smith said after a moment. “I’ve reviewed all of the material you sent me. I’m afraid we can’t lend you the amount you’re looking for. Not with the figures you’re showing me.”
Jackson had been expecting as much. Sales picked up during the holiday season, but it still wasn’t enough. He was still paying on the loan they’d taken out when Zack insisted on having only the best kitchen equipment in existence. He’d been so stupid to trust that his friend wasn’t going to bail on him. Zack had been a flake since they were kids, but he swore to Jackson that this time was different. So, Jackson took out the loans—in his own name. And now, here he was, saddled with the debt, the business bombing, and all alone.
“I understand,” he said to the man across from him. “It was a last-ditch effort kind of thing.”
“We can offer you half the amount,” Mr. Smith said. “But I’d need a co-signer of some kind. And we’d need collateral.”
“I have a bunch of kitchen equipment,” Jackson joked. He’d been selling the rest of his belongings for months just to keep the shop going. If he didn’t already live in the apartment upstairs, he’d have been sleeping in the storage room by now. He even tried selling the kitchen equipment but couldn’t get close to what he’d paid for any of it. He wondered if Zack had been completely honest about the cost. He should have known better than to trust him.
“That’s something we can work with,” the man said. “The interest isn’t going to be great. But I’ll get some more information from you while I have you here, and we’ll see what all we can do.”
It wasn’t enough to solve his problem entirely, but it was enough to buy him some time.
“Okay, great,” he said, forcing a smile. At least he might not have to close before New Year’s Eve. And he could possibly keep paying the employees and vendors until he could figure out what he was going to do.
He didn’t want to sell. He loved his place. But this loan was only going to be a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. How was he going to keep the place going long term? If he couldn’t come up with a solution soon, he’d have no choice but to sell the place to Demetri. Maybe Demetri would keep the place open, and Jackson could work there.