“I also hit my thumb with a hammer. Twice.”
“And you didn’t cry once,” she teased.
“I wanted to.”
Her smile softened, and her hands slid down to rest on my chest. “I’m proud of you, lumberjack.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I’d heard a lot of praise in my life. Applause in courtrooms, handshakes from managing partners, nods of approval from people who couldn’t remember my birthday but sure loved my win/loss ratio.
Butproud? From someone whosawme?
That was different.
That mattered.
I leaned my forehead against hers and whispered, “Thanks for not telling me I’m crazy.”
“Oh, you’re crazy,” she said. “But in the best possible way.”
And just like that, the fear buzzing under my skin quieted.
I wasn’t just opening a shop.
I was building something that finally felt like it belonged to me.
And with Fifi beside me?
I started to believe I could actually pull it off.
“Now, meet me at your place later. I’ve got a surprise for you.” She winked at me, and my heart raced because Fifi’s surprises were always the best.
She placed a soft kiss on my lips, patted my butt, and skipped….yes, skipped…out of the shop, leaving it silent.
Some boxes were stacked against the walls in some semblance of order, the shelving units secured, the display table set with a few choice pieces Fifi insisted “needed to catch theeye first.” She’d even drawn a little chalkboard sign for the front window that saidLevel Up Your Nostalgia Here, complete with a stick-figure superhero and a speech bubble that read:Best toy store ever (probably).
I was still laughing when I locked the front door behind her, the sound echoing longer than expected in the empty space.
She had that effect on me, filling the quiet and lighting up dark corners I didn’t realize were still unlit.
The moment her car disappeared down the road, something else settled in.
Weight.
Not the kind from boxes or shelving units, but the old kind. The kind that creeps in once the lights are off and the distractions disappear.
I stood in the middle of the shop, listening to nothing but the creak of the cooling ductwork and the soft hum of doubt in the back of my mind.
Was this crazy?
I’d sunk almost every dime of my savings into this place.
Walked away from a career people spent decades clawing their way toward. Said no to bonuses, and no to a track that guaranteed stability and prestige.
For what?
A shop.
