Before Olivia can finish that thought, my phone rings. The chorus of Edison Lighthouse’s “Love Grows” rings out through the dining area and Grace immediately starts belting out the words.
“And nobody knows,” she sings, horribly off-key, “like meee.” She throws her hands in the air as she draws the last note out and I grab my phone from the table, answering without looking to see who it is.
“Hello?” I say through a laugh. I’ve been changing my ringtone weekly since I was in college and Grace loves it. Sometimes she’ll call my phone when we’re hanging out just so she can hear what this week’s song is. If it’s one that she knows, it warrants a performance on her part every single time.
“Hi, Elsie,” a deep, friendly voice responds. I pull the phone from my ear to check the screen and see Mr. Davis’ name. My stomach dips.
Has he found someone else to buy the building already? The guys who looked at it after me, maybe?
“– to talk to you about something,” he finishes as I bring the phone back to my ear.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“I’ve been thinking since you left this morning and was hoping to run an idea by you,” he says. “I know the building is awfully big, and buying it wouldn’t be cheap. I’d love to see it end up in the hands of someone local, though. If you’re interested, I’m hoping we can work something out.”
“I’m interested.” I hesitate, unsure how to break the news to him. “I just don’t think it’s going to be financially possible for me right now.”
Or ever, I add silently. My dad pays me well, but notmonthly payments on a four-thousand-square-foot buildingwell.
“Which is why I’ve been thinking,” Mr. Davis continues. “What if I lease it to you instead of selling? The building isn’t costing me anything other than taxes. I’m not opposed to hanging onto it for a while longer if it means it can bring in some new business around here.”
“You would do that?” I ask, my voice a little wobbly. I’m afraid to get my hopes up, terrified to grab onto the lifeline he’s throwing me.
“Aw, hell, Elsie,” Mr. Davis chuckles. “I don’t think there’s much the people in this town wouldn’t do for you.”
The pang in my chest catches me off guard. “This town is everything to me,” I tell him honestly.
“Which is exactly why I want you sticking around and setting up shop here. If I can help make that happen, I’m going to do it.”
I let out a breath as I mull it over. The building isbig. I can’t picture my storefront anywhere else, but I also can’t visualize how I’d utilize all the space inside. I want my shop to feel warm and cozy, someplace where people can easily wander in off the street, take a look around and find something that calls to them. I don’t want it to feel like a department store, a place so big they need to wander aisles to find what they need. They’re more likely to leave empty-handed that way.
“You still there?” Mr. Davis asks.
“I’m here.” I look up then, noticing Grace, Olivia and Gail leaning in close, straining to hear both ends of the conversation.
“What’s happening?” Grace whispers loudly.
“It’s Mr. Davis,” I mouth back. “About the building.”
Grace smacks Olivia’s arm, wide-eyed and excited, and Olivia grins, holding up crossed fingers on one hand. Gail reaches over to squeeze my arm, having no clue what’s going on, but wanting to be supportive anyway.
“I’m thinking about the size of the space,” I continue. “It’s big. I would needa lotof flowers to fill the space.”
Mr. Davis chuckles. “I’ve thought about that. If I found someone else who was interested, what do you think about splitting the space and leasing just a portion of it? We could work out the logistics on how much space you’d need, but I –”
“Part of it?” I interrupt. I know I’m being rude, but I need to make sure I’ve heard him correctly. Because it sounds an awful lot like opening my shop in my dream location is starting to be an actual possibility, and I need to make sure I’ve understood him before my heart and my hopes start sprinting toward the finish line.
I can practically see the Main Street storefront already, with its pastel-colored door and floral arrangements in the big windows and –
“That’s right,” Mr. Davis confirms. “If you don’t need the full space, we’ll work something out.”
We’ll work something out. Had sweeter words ever been spoken?
“I’m absolutely interested in that idea,” I tell him, fighting to keep the giddiness out of my voice. I look up again to see my best friends beaming at me. My biggest supporters. My backbone all the times I haven’t been able to find my own. I can finally feel mine starting to form, inch by inch, as I reach for this dream of mine. The hopes I’ve always stored securely in a tiny, locked chest in the back of my mind, where they couldn’t disappoint anyone if I didn’t give life to them, didn’t give them the air to breathe and grow.
They’re growing now, and I can’t stop them anymore. I don’twantto stop them anymore. I’m tired of pretending I’m happy working for my dad, fitting neatly into the role everyone expects me to play. I’m especially tired of watching my siblings pave their own futures while I’m too scared to fight for my own.
The girl with the flowers,people in Port Myles always call me. I used to love the nickname. Over the years, though, my chest began to ache every time I heard it. The girl with the flowers spends her days chained – metaphorically, obviously – to a desk in a dingy office in the back of her dad’s hardware store, crunching numbers and drowning in spreadsheets.
