* * *
Almost-perfect yellowdress in a bag on my arm, I float into the shop feeling optimistic. That is, until I open the door and am greeted by a grim-faced Walt.
“You’ve got a problem,” he says without preamble.
My heart sinks. I quickly stash my purse and new dress in our tiny office and Walt takes me over to where the bare plywood subfloor is mottled and dark-looking. The carpet is long gone, exposing what is underneath. Jakob is standing there lookingsternly down at a large splintered hole in the floor. He glances up at me and nods a greeting.
I nod back worriedly. “What’s going on? Why is there a hole in the floor?”
Walt chews his gum. “Subfloor is rotted out more than we thought. Jakob stepped on this patch and his foot went right through. Looks like you’ve had water damage under there for a long time.”
I stare at the patch, realizing that the floor in this part of the store has felt a little spongy for years. It’s not near the bathroom though, so does this mean we have another problem and more damage? “How bad is it?” I ask, wincing before he even answers.
Walt takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head. He has a mop of curly white hair that springs up when he removes the cap. “Depends on how much damage is done, and what’s underneath. We’re gonna have to open up the floor and see what’s going on down there.”
“Okay.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath, trying not to panic, trying to recapture the sense of lightheartedness I was feeling just a few moments ago. “What’s the worst-case scenario?”
Jakob frowns. “You could need new pipes. You definitely need a new subfloor. Depending on the extent of the damage, it could be a couple thousand dollars.” He meets my eyes, his gaze sympathetic.
A couple thousand we don’t have. I nod, trying to keep calm and not fly into a panic. Obviously there is nothing we can do but fix it. We have to have a functional floor that we won’t worry about customers falling through.
“Okay.” I sigh. “Do what you have to do and let me know what you find. We’ll figure out the money somehow.” I wonder how inthe world I’m going to afford to open my own store at the rate things are going. The repairs are eating into that ten-thousand-dollar seed money at a worrying rate. We’re going to have to find the extra money for these repairs somewhere.
The bad news casts a pall of worry over the morning that isn’t dispelled even by the arrival of a beautiful bouquet of flowers. A delivery guy from Petal and Pitchfork Flowers comes through the door with a gorgeous arrangement of locally grown dahlias, cosmos, and other blooms. “I’m looking for Emmie Wynne?” he asks, glancing around the construction site in confusion.
“That’s me.” I take the flowers from him and read the card.
May your day be as lovely as you are.—Henry
Jakob is watching me. When I glance up, he quirks an eyebrow questioningly. I ignore him and take the flowers into the office where I can admire them in peace. I put them next to the bag with my new dress in it to remind me of what is coming, what I’m aiming for. Somehow this will all be okay.
I’m in the middle of composing a thank-you text to Henry when Mom pops into the office. Dot must have brought her over. Mr. Butters waddles into the office too, and I scratch him under his chin. He’s wearing a satin bow tie with daisies on it.
“Emmie, why is there a giant hole in the floor out there?” Mom asks worriedly.
I sigh, punch send on the text, and set my phone down. “Because the universe can’t let only good things happen, apparently.” I tell her about the subfloor and the potential cost.
“Oh dear.” She frowns. Her mouth is a little pinched with pain today, and she’s massaging her hands covertly. I think I need to take her to see her doctor. Her meds don’t seem to be keepingup with her symptoms lately. On the list of things that are not good news…
“Can we afford all of these repairs?” she asks quietly.
“We can afford it,” I tell her, “but I don’t know how I’m going to afford to open my chocolate shop too. We need to cover the repairs plus first month’s and last month’s rent and a damage deposit on a storefront. And that’s provided I can even find a good space for my shop. I need a miracle to find the kind of space I’m hoping for.”
Not only that, but I’d still have to outfit the shop, and that takes a lot of money. I could make the chocolates here in our commercial kitchen and would only need to purchase some upgraded equipment, so the costs would not be too high from the chocolate production side. But I still need to find a storefront that looks like the one in my vision and then buy décor and display cases for it. Right now it’s feeling like a herculean task.
“Oh, honey.” Mom sinks into the single folding chair wedged in the corner of the tiny office. “I wish there was something I could do.” She looks concerned and helpless. I hate to see her worry like this. It’s not good for her. I try to shield her as much as I can, but even I can’t pretend the giant hole in the floor isn’t a problem.
“Ask your church ladies to say a prayer for the right space to fall into my lap,” I suggest. “The right space at a price I can afford. It feels like it’s going to take a miracle.”
I’ve learned never to underestimate the praying power of a group of motivated, retirement-age women. No one can rival them for stamina and sheer force of will.
Mom spies the bouquet on my desk and brightens considerably. “Oh, those are lovely. Are they from Henry?”
I blush and she reaches out and strokes the petals of a peach dahlia. “How thoughtful of him.”
We hear the bell on the front door jingle, and then Dot yells for us.
“In the office,” we reply in unison. A moment later she sticks her head in the door. Mr. Butters gets up to greet her, wagging his stubby tail.
