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I shove the last of the molasses cookies into my mouth and head back to the barn. Jake’s still there, puttering about like he owns the place. Thankfully, he’s still wearing a shirt. Unthankfully, it’s clinging to his chest and it’s clear I’ve developed an odd new fetish for assholes.
Ugh.
“Did you finish your chores?” I ask him, leaning against the doorframe and doing my best to look stern.
A ghost of a smile flashes across Jake’s face, but he shakes it off and rolls his eyes at me. He’s made himself right at home, a laptop set up on one of my worktables his new makeshift office, it would seem.
“Were you always such an ass?” I ask, stepping fully into the barn and approaching him slowly. “I don’t remember you being like this in high school.”
“I don’t remember you at all,” he replies, glancing sideways at my approach.
Gee, thanks.
He grins at my expression, his eyes slowly running over me. “You were a scrawny freshman the year I was a senior, if memory recalls.”
I shrug. He’s not incorrect. I was a bit of a late bloomer.
He was, of course, one of those guys who was hot in high school and only got better-looking with an extra decade.
“We were in different worlds,” he adds.
“We should’ve stayed that way,” I tell him, even as I inch closer. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you trespassing.”
“You know, I did hear things about you,” he says, standing, and I swear he inches closer to me, too. “That you were bossy. Weird.”
“You heard right.” I grin.
He smirks. “I’m sure I did.”
I move a little closer. I even let my eyes dip to look at his lips before dragging them back up to stare at him head-on.
“I heard things about you, too,” I tell him, my voice soft, my heart pounding. “I heard that you were into bossy, weird girls.”
“Liar,” he whispers back, but his eyes flash and he’s definitely leaning closer and—
—and what am I even doing? He’s the enemy, right?
Right. Absolutely. This is not a time for peace and love and sex. No way.
I stand up straighter and take a step backwards.
“See you in the morning, Jake,” I tell him, ignoring the look of confusion on his face as I spin on my heel and head back to the soft warm bed in my cozy Airstream. Alone.
Chapter Five
After a quick shower, I settle into my bedroom, which, yes, is technically not its own room, but it is separated by a beaded curtain. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I take a deep breath and relax into it, taking a moment to meditate for the first time in what feels like weeks.
Before the Jake problem arrived, I was already bananas busy. Christmas is, of course, when I do the most business, and every year I do my best to top myself. I want to give people the classics they love, but I also want to do things that are new and inspired. Limited edition. Scent combinations that people wouldn’t think of. Special touches like sprigs of holly tucked into the gift wrap. I even bought goat stamps for the wrapping paper this year for my Etsy orders.
It isn’t easy being a small business owner. Everything is on you. Every last thing. That’s the problem that a lot of newbies face. It isn’t just taking some Instagram-worthy pictures of your product and then dropping orders at the post office. Or it might be if you’re not trying to make it your livelihood. But if you’re not a hobbyist, you have to do the work. You have to make it next-level special, something that compels the buyer to leave a review and makes them come back for more. Makes them tell their friends about this amazing find they’ve discovered. You’ve got to constantly reach new buyers, and not just online. You’ve got to hustle your way into shops and farmers’ markets trying to reach new customers. Because resting on your laurels won’t pay the bills—even when your bills don’t include rent.
And the product? It has to be unique. It has to have something special that makes people want to buy your soap more than a mass-produced—and cheaper—version from Target.
I’m lucky to live in a town that’s very supportive of small businesses, with a steady tourist season drawing in new customers. But I have to retain those customers. Once they leave, I want them be so wowed by my soap that they re-order online. I can’t afford to be sloppy or leave a single opportunity unexplored.
I sigh, thinking of everything I’m going to have to do tomorrow. I need to make sure I get another batch of Citrus and Christmas soap going, since that’s a farmers’ market hit if I’ve ever seen one. Made with blood oranges, it’s deliciously fragrant and unexpected, the perfect stocking stuffer. I’ll need to crank out at least three batches if I want to stay on the schedule I’ve made for myself.
