Chapter Forty-One
The price for sofas had gone up marginally.
I loved the pink walls.
Secret drawers should stay secret.
“Ten minutes to go.”
I clutched my best friend’s arm as the countdown to midnight ticked away. On my other side, I bumped elbows with May, Mom, and Jeremy. They were just a few of the many faces packed into the biggest crowd Skye’s had seen since it opened. From the back of the store all the way to the entrance, people craned their necks toward the screen.
May hit refresh again. The fundraiser tracker now read eight minutes. The progress bar inched closer—so close—to our goal.
I whispered a prayer to Bowie, to Freddie Mercury, to Princess Diana. Around me, the whole crowd held its breath.
Once the idea was born, it spread like wildfire. Everyone in town pitched in. Otis practically skipped when I let him add a romance section. We sold tickets to a Drag Queen story hour—Femme Fatale readingThe Boy Who Grew Dragonsand, when the kids begged for more,Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It was such a hit we were already planning to make it a monthly thing—assuming we reached our goal and could keep the store open.
With a little push from my friends and some gentle nudging from Mom, I’d turned my secret drawer into a gallery wall. The sales from those sketches alone could cover a few months' rent—but not the full cost of repairs and bills. Not yet.
The drawing of my parents sold first—before the doors even opened—to an anonymous buyer. Thanks to Jeremy, we now had a proper website, where people could order books online.
May was selling knitted book sleeves. Otis’s theater friends floated through the room with trays of champagne and orange juice. Mom and our neighbor Carol had made muffins, little apple pies, and a book-shaped cake ready to be cut. I saw Mom’s knuckles whiten around the knife as she stared at the screen.
Seeing her down here, cheeks flushed with hope and her eyes glowing with purpose, it almost felt like Dad was here, too. I glanced at the wall, at his new portrait,Founder of Skye’sengraved into the frame. The wall behind it had been painted the same soft pink as Mom’s kitchen.
The store wasn’t quite the same anymore. But it felt right. Skye’s had changed—and so had its owner. No matter what happened next, the people of Middleton hadn’t forgotten my dad.
“Ten, nine, eight…”
The crowd chanted as the seconds dropped. I tensed, gripping May’s sleeve.
“So close,” she whispered.
“Four, three…”
May refreshed the browser one last time. “Oh my god, Nora?—”
“ONE.”
The room erupted. Arms wrapped around me. Kisses landed on my cheeks. My ribs were compressed by a hundred hugs at once.
But I couldn’t look away from the screen.
We hadn’t just made it.
We’dexceededit.
As the cheers slowly died down, I heard May again. “Someone sent a HUGE donation. Right before the clock ran out. Look at this.”
I gaped at the number. That was…a lot of zeros.
“Who would—?” My voice caught as my eyes scanned the note beneath the anonymous donation.
I owe the store a new sofa.
While the celebration continued downstairs, I slipped away. Partly because my social battery was long dead. But mostly because, ever since I read that message, my heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
There was no doubt in my mind where the donation had come from.
