The silence stretched until it felt like everyone in The Red Fox had turned to stare. Sophie's pulse roared in her ears. She had said it out loud and there was no taking it back.
The tall man in the doorway finally spoke, his voice low and steady.
"You don't even know what you're buying."
Sophie turned towards him, startled and for a split second, she forgot how to breathe.
He was tall well over six feet with broad shoulders that filled the doorway, his coat dusted with sawdust as if he'd come straight from work. His hair was dark and just a little too long, curling slightly at the ends, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble. His eyes were a deep, steady brown the kind that could look right through you if you weren't careful.
Something about him was infuriatingly composed, as though he belonged here in a way Sophie suddenly realized she didn't.
"I know enough," she said, lifting her chin despite the heat creeping up her neck. "I heard them say it's closing."
He stepped further inside, the firelight glancing across the hard planes of his face.
"It's closing because it's falling apart. Leaky roof. Rusted kitchen equipment. And the debts aren't small ones."
Without waiting for her reply, he strode to the bar and leaned one forearm against it.
"A pint of bitter, Todd," he said, his voice calm but sure, as though he'd done this a hundred times before.
The barkeep nodded, pulling the tap, and in seconds a foaming pint slid into the stranger's hand. He lifted it to his lips, watching Sophie over the rim of the glass with an unreadable expression.
The man at the table a wiry, middle-aged, with tired eyes gave Sophie a sympathetic look.
"He's right, miss. We've been trying to sell for months, but no one's mad enough to take it on. Not with the repairs it needs."
Sophie hesitated only a moment before pulling out the chair beside them and sitting down.
"Then tell me," she said firmly. "What exactly does it need?"
The two men exchanged glances. The one who had spoken first leaned forward, his voice quiet but steady.
"It used to be a good little place. My wife and I ran it for years. We served everything from Sunday roasts to cream teas. But foot traffic slowed down after the bypass was built. We kept hoping things would turn around, but now the bills are stacked higher than the plates."
"What about the kitchen?" Sophie asked, her heart tugging at the image of a once-loved restaurant fading away.
Tom gave a short laugh.
"Old, but still standing. Needs a proper scrub and a new oven at the very least. Dining room could do with fresh paint and new tables, but the bones are good. Roof leaks when it rains, though."
"And the location?" Sophie pressed.
His expression softened a little.
"Best spot in the village, if you ask me. Right by the green. People used to stop in after market day. If someone had the right idea… it could work again."
Behind her, the tall man lifted his pint, his voice carrying easily across the room.
"It'll take more than a fresh coat of paint to make it work. Wrenford's small. People here need to trust you before they'll come through your door."
Sophie met his gaze, her jaw setting.
"Then I'll earn it."
That earned a murmur of approval from the table. Tom smiled faintly, a little of the weariness lifting from his face.
"Name's Tom Green. My wife, Margaret, and I still own the place. If you really mean to do this, come by tomorrow morning. I'll show you around."
"I will," Sophie said, surprising herself with how certain she sounded.
When she rose to leave, she caught the tall man watching her again, his expression unreadable as he tipped back the last of his pint.
"You'll need more than hope," he said quietly.
Sophie forced herself to hold his gaze, even as her pulse quickened.
"Lucky for me," she said, "I've got more than that."
For a brief moment, his mouth curved into the smallest, most infuriating hint of a smirk. Then he turned back to the bar, signaling for another.
Outside, the night was cold and still, the village street bathed in silver moonlight. Sophie pulled her coat tight around her shoulders, her heart racing.
Tomorrow, she would see the place. Tomorrow, she would find out if she was brave enough to make this mad idea real.