Chapter 1
I’m glad Mom isn’t here to see this. I press my hand to my forehead, willing away the stress headache that’s slowly seeping over my skull. I’d begged and argued and made such a good point this morning. It’d been a good idea—at least I thought it was. Staying open an extra hour would mean more people could come into the store. More people equal sales.
Sales equal money.
Money means we won’t lose the store.
I lower my hand and gaze around at the eight hundred square feet of gifts, trinkets, and collectibles that makes up The Magpie. It’s my mom’s life’s work, this little gift shop. Set up right in the middle of The Vintage shopping center by the boardwalk, we are in a prime location. We’re right by the beach, right in the middle of all the foot traffic and shoppers who are here to visit the bigger stores and dine at the upscale restaurants.
All the conditions are perfect, and yet we’re about to go out of business.
I let my gaze drift to a shelf of glass angel figurines, each posed in a different way, some of them decorated with each month’s birthstone, others holding a baby girl or boy, or a dog or cat. They’re gifts that used to be so popular a few years ago. People would collect them for every occasion, buy one for every family member that matched their birthstone or marked an important event in someone’s life. They used to be so popular we couldn’t keep them in stock. I remember the November birthstone angels would sell out every other week and I’d always wonder why so many damn people were born in November.
One time I mentioned it and my mom snorted and said November is nine months after Valentine’s day and that’s why, a realization that made me blush from head to toe. Now I would kill to have an annoyed customer in here, tapping her foot impatiently because we’re out of the angel she wants. They used to be so popular and now they just collect dust on a shelf that no one looks at anymore.
I glance at my watch. It’s 7:33 and I am a total failure. The Magpie is open six days a week, from ten in the morning until six in the evening. With business dropping every month, and the overwhelming stress of losing our store which is our only source of income, I’ve promised my mom I would fix this place. We’re no longer struggling each month. It’s beyond that. We’re drowning.
I came up with this genius idea earlier this morning. Today is Thursday, and just like every other week day, most people work a nine to five job, right? That means the average person is stuck at work until five and then they have to drive home, probably to make dinner for kids, or to take them to soccer practice and stuff. Our store closes at six, which means those potential customers aren’t even going to bother coming in. I decided to stay open an extra hour today. Mom thought it was a dumb idea. She says our regular customers already know our hours so they won’t think to come in later. I say our regular customers suck because they haven’t been coming in at all lately, so why not attract new customers? Six o’clock is the time people go out to dinner at the nearby restaurants. If we’re open, they’ll see us and stop in.
Now I’m cringing as I recall the conversation with Mom this morning. She’d been adamant that it wouldn’t work. I’d promised her it would. She left work at the usual time, a sarcastic expression plastered on her face as she walked out the door. “Have fun being bored for an hour,” she’d said. It’s as if she knew no one would come in, and I’d been so cocky that I’d prove her wrong.
Well no one has come in. Score one for Mom.
I groan as I reach under the counter for my phone and purse. I’d done the best I could. I posted on the store’s Facebook and Twitter page that we’d be open later today. I even propped open the store’s door for half an hour, hoping people would notice it as they walked by. I can’t think of a more blatant invitation to come inside than a door that’s already open for you.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize we probably wasted more money in electricity this past hour than we earned all day. I sling my purse over my shoulder and turn to leave just as the door opens. I freeze in place, my momentary excitement fizzling as I take in the person who just entered.
A college-aged guy with cropped black hair and a tight-fitting T-shirt with the local college football team logo on it. Not to stereotype here, but he is not exactly the typical customer for a place like this. He’s probably lost and looking for directions.
“Hello,” I say with my polite store voice. “Can I help you?
“I hope so,” he says with a laugh. He scratches his neck, glancing around the store. “My family is meeting for dinner next door and, well, I only just now realized we’re meeting because it’s my mom’s birthday.”
“Uh oh,” I say with a smile.
He nods, his eyes widening. “She will kill me if she knows I forgot. I texted them saying I hit some traffic when really, I was sitting in the parking lot just now, trying to figure out what to do. Then I saw your shop.”
“I am happy to save the day,” I say with a grin. Internally, I’m jumping up and down and shouting with excitement over this unexpected customer. “What kind of stuff does your mom like?”
“Smell good stuff. Like air fresheners and stuff. She also likes anything sparkly.”
I nod, stepping out from the counter. “We have wax melters over here,” I say, pointing him toward the porcelain melters that come in different sizes and designs. “You can pick some wax cubes and put them in the tray on top. The light turns on and melts the wax, which makes the whole house smell good.”
He nods, picking up one of the higher end melters, as opposed to the smaller cheaper ones. “She would like this. Right now she uses candles in every room, so it’s kind of the same thing, right?”
“It’s actually better than candles,” I say. “You just turn it on and there’s no fire so it’s not a safety hazard. Plus, you can change out the wax scents anytime you want.” I point to the shelf next to the melters where we have one hundred and thirty different scents. I know this because I hand-picked each of them from our supplier, only choosing the best ones from his selection.
“This is perfect,” he says as his shoulders relax. “Um…do you do gift wrapping by chance?”
“We totally do,” I say. That’s an extra five dollar charge. I’m probably smiling so big I look like a freak, but I can’t help myself. I’m getting a sale! A sale that will totally justify being open an hour later.
He picks out the most expensive melter ($35) and then gets me to help him choose some wax scents. I’m not exactly trying to be a sleazy salesman, but I keep showing him scent after scent, letting him see all my favorites in hopes that he buys more than one.
“I’ll take these,” he says, gesturing to the pile of wax cubes I’ve been handing him to smell.
“Which ones?” I say.
He shrugs. “All of them.”
