Elise rolled her eyes, but I saw her press her lips together to tame a smile. “It’s not really abusiness,”she countered.
“Sure, it is. You have a product you sell, right?”
She blinked. “Yeah.”
I nodded. “You have inventory, don’t you?”
Elise bit the corner of her lip. “What? You mean, like, beads and stuff?”
“Yes, and pieces you haven’t sold,” I said, ticking off these items on my fingers. “You have customers, right?”
At this, a giggle erupted from her, and it was the sweetest sound I’d heard in months. Light, unchecked, and full of joy. “Customers? Yeah, I guess, I mean…” She shrugged, her smile growing. “…a lot of girls at school buy from me more than once, and my stall at the farmer’s market can get busy sometimes.”
This was news. “Wait, you have your own stall now? You’re not still using the one that belongs to… to… whose was it again?” I asked, trying to remember what she’d told me years ago.
Her amber eyes rounded at this. “Mama’s friend Rita,” she said, slightly awed. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Like I said, you impress me.” I shook off this diversion. “So, you have an actual place of business. Do you have to pay for it?”
Again she shrugged. “Well, yeah, to sell at the farmer’s market, you have to pay the registration fee—”
“Which is essentially rent,” I interrupted, my excitement growing. “Besides rent and inventory, what other expenses do you have?”
Her eyes lit like candles. “Well, sometimes Alberta helps me, so I pay her—”
“You haveemployees?!”I practically shouted. “How can you say this isn’t a business? The next thing you’re going to tell me is that you pay taxes.”
The way she smiled and bit her lip said it all.
“Holy crap. You pay taxes,” I murmured.
“Well, if you make more than five hundred a year, you have to claim it,” she explained innocently.
My smile was electric. “And you’ve made more than five hundred in a year?”
“Um, last year, I made more than three thousand dollars.”
My jaw hit my chest. “Wait. Net? You netted three grand?”
Elise nodded.
“You’re a sophomore in high school, and you have to pay income taxes for your self-made jewelry endeavor,” I reiterated, making sure I had all the facts straight. “And you don’t think this is a business?”
“Well…” With her arms still crossed, she strode across the porch, spun around, and sat next to me.
My stomach dipped, and I told myself it was from the sudden motion of the swing.
“…I never really thought of it like that… until now.”
The way her eyes met mine, a hint of gratitude shining in them, made my chest fill.
“What do you call it?” I found myself asking.
A little frown formed between her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Your business. Do you have a name for it? Do you have a sign? Business cards?”
Her dark lashes beat over those mesmerizing eyes. “What would I put on a business card? I don’t even have a cell phone.”
