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“Agreed,” Bea says, before licking maple glaze off her thumb. “What are you gasping about, Sula?”
“I,” she says proudly, “have a fabulous idea. Kate, you should work here! Take photos for the website. Work some front desk hours, too. Bea’s planning to reduce her hours so she can dedicate more time to her independent commissions, now that she’s back at painting, so you could take some of her hours. Heck, take all of them!”
Bea and I choke on our doughnuts.
“I still needsomehours, Sula!” Bea says.
I whack a fist into my chest and use my default excuse for whenever I’m feeling cornered and caught off guard. “Not sure how much longer I’ll be here. Probably not a good idea.”
“What’s the rush?” Sula asks. “You’re not staying home through the holidays? They’re only a month away.”
Only a month.I haven’t lived at home for a month since before I left for college. I can’t deny the thought crossed my mind over thepast five years when a homesick pang struck around the holidays and I was far from my family, but every time I considered acting on it, the fear that I’d come home hoping to feel less lonely, only to find myself lonelier than ever around the people I loved most, would stop me in my tracks.
“Um. Well. That’s really kind of you...” I blink at her like a deer in the headlights. “I’m just not sure what I’m... doing?”
I haven’t heard from the few photographers I still know in the city, and I haven’t let myself think about how many of my contacts didn’t get back to me when I was still in Scotland, trying to pick up leads for work once my shoulder was healed. Was it something I did? Sure, I was late to some shoots, I missed a few deadlines, but in general, I think I built a decent reputation among the people I worked with. Whether my recent professional dead ends are a coincidence or the universe is doing me dirty, I can’t deny my current desperation makes Sula’s offer enticing.
“Oh, and I can pay you cash,” she says. “Keep it under the table.”
Little dollar signs dance in my eyes. My finances have dwindled to the last bit of cash Mom left, and I’ve used my credit card sparingly, but rent will be due soon for Bea, and I want to at least contribute something toward it. I don’t know how long I should stay here to make my story about why I came back convincing enough not to raise suspicion when I leave, but I do know I’m not comfortable staying in the apartment any longer with no income to contribute.
“No pressure, of course. Take the time you need,” Sula says, even as she smiles at me like she already knows I’m going to say yes. Then she helps herself to what smells like a chai doughnut and mercifully changes the subject. “So. Bea. How are things since reuniting with that tall, dashing beau of yours?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Makeup boinking is the best kind of boinking, isn’t it?”
“All right,” Bea says, taking Sula’s shoulders and gently turning her toward the back of the store. “That’s enough out of you. Take your doughnut and get number crunching. This place doesn’t bookkeep for itself.”
Sula throws a scowl over her shoulder as she tromps toward the back hallway. “Cruelty, thy name is business management.”
Toni shakes his head. “It’s like a cosmic meddling void was created after Jules left, and now Sula’s filling it.” Turning to me, he says, “She just wants you to feel welcome and included. Whether or not you take her up on the job offer, I hope you spend as much time here with us as you want.”
“Toni,” Bea singsongs. “Why don’t you just say what you’re buttering her up for?”
Toni laughs nervously. “Who, me? Last time I buttered up something was my morning croissant.”
Bea snorts a laugh. “Just ask her.”
“Okay.” Toni drops his doughnut and faces me, slapping his palms together in a prayer. “I might bemassivelybehind on content for the store’s social media.”
“Ooh, Sula’s gonna get you,” Bea croons.
“You hush your mouth,” he hisses, then turns back to me. “But if I had someone with your creative credentials, your photographic finesse—”
Bea snorts again. Toni gives her a death glare, then smiles widely at me.
“—I’d have a prayer,” he continues, “of digging myself out of this mess.”
“For pay,” Bea says pointedly.
“Of course for pay,” Toni tells her, then says to me, “Do you accept baked goods as currency?”
“Toni! You can’t ask her to do your job, then pay her in doughnuts.”
“Well, I’m sorry, okay? I never evenwantedto do social media content, but no oneelsearound here seems inclined,” he says, widening his eyes meaningfully.
Bea’s jaw drops. “I’ve been a little busy! Sorry I’ve only been making art for the place and selling it, not marketing it on social media, too—”
“I’ll do it!” I say, loud enough to bring the bickering to a stop.
Toni snaps out of it first. “Oh my God. You’re a lifesaver, a goddess, a—”
