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2
Jen Berkley took a break between customers, enjoying a lull as Shawlands shoppers migrated to the local bakeries and cafes for a quick pick-me-up before resuming their shopping in the afternoon. She’d never seen an August like it.
‘What you sitting on?’ Chloe asked, leaning on the end of the counter.
‘Just shy of eight hundred.’
Chloe whistled through her teeth. ‘Woof. Wait, is that good?’
‘Very good,’ Jen replied, unable to hide the smile pulling at her lips. ‘That’s Christmas-level sales for a Tuesday.’
Chloe nodded in appreciation. ‘Nice. Still going to slag off Lovefest, when it’s driven your sales like that?’
Jen rolled her eyes. ‘It’s the name: how can I take it seriously with a name like Lovefest?’
‘Just imagine the suggestions that got scrapped.’ Chloe moved to the nearest shelves, her focus fixed on the copper cocktail shaker she was tumbling between her hands, pretending to inspect it. ‘Had any further thoughts on what you’re doing about that text?’
Jen considered her reply, and chose to ignore the question altogether. ‘I’ve got delivery routes to plan, replen to sort, and cleaning to do. What do you want to help with?’
Chloe shot her a look. Her best friend understood better than to push it, but Jen knew that inside she was dying to dissect options in minute detail. After all, she’d hotfooted it to the shop when Jen told her who’d been in touch. Annoyance gripped her stomach once more, but Jen bit it down. It wasn’t Chloe’s fault. She just didn’t want to talk about it.
It wasn’t the text in itself that was bad. Okay: it was enough to make her want to kick the wall, but it wasn’t just that. It was an accumulation of bad things that had stacked up over time, like a terrible game of Jenga, threatening to fall at any moment. Right now her tower was teetering, but if she didn’t talk about the text she could keep it together. Just.
Chloe pursed her lips, weighing up her answer. ‘Replen. You shout and I’ll grab.’
Jen winked, keeping her bad mood under wraps. ‘That’s the spirit. A box of pina colada, Sex on the Beach, screwdrivers, and porn star martinis, please.’
Chloe disappeared into the storeroom, not before saluting her bestie. ‘Yes, boss.’
Jen surveyed the shop, her stomach and face dropping, safe to let the facade fall now Chloe was out of sight. The store looked good. It wasn’t big by any means, but it was big enough. Large enough for an ample counter, two industrial fridges – one of which was currently broken – a glass-doored freezer, and a wall of shelves. She’d kept the decor minimal and Scandi-inspired, much like her home. Light wood, sleek lines, white walls, and a little hint of industrial ruggedness with the pipework holding up her shelving. In fact, it wasn’t just like her home: it was an extension of it. She’d built it from the ground up. It was her baby.
She’d always had a love of cocktails, bars, and pubs, spanning most of her career, so when the opportunity arose to open her own shop selling pre-made cocktail pouches and every imaginable sundry for making your own perfect cocktails at home, she had leapt at the chance.
It hadn’t been easy, but soon she was making all the cocktails on-site, creating her own marvellous concoctions to support the better-known recipes, and selling them all over the south of Glasgow.
And now? Well. She’d be lucky if she was still here next quarter.
The spring of agitation twisted once more. Jen tensed her jaw.Don’t think about all that today. Look at all the money you’ve made!But how could she not? The shop wasn’t just her livelihood: it was her entire life.
And who sends a text like that out of the blue?
Chloe dumped the boxes onto the edge of the wooden counter with a thud. ‘Sorry – heavy.’
‘Just in the fridge please, Clo.’
‘I can’t believe how fast these are selling. You all out of Peachy Keens?’
‘Yep, will need to make more. Fancy helping?’
‘Depends. Does that include sampling?’
‘If needs be.’ Jen replied with a smile.
‘Well, count me in!’
The bell above the door jingled, alerting them to a customer.
‘Hi, how are—’ Jen said, before cutting herself off. ‘Hey Annie, it’s yourself. How’s it going?’
