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“But! I wrote eight thousand of those today.”Thanks to gorgeous red hair and an easy laugh.She burrowed the tip of her toe into the wood railing. “I’m on to something. I started feeling better this morning. The trip out here, the new scenery, is helping.”
“In this business, you’re not going to get this type of chance on a third book if we screw this one up.”
Trust me, I know.
“You’re brilliant, talented, and a helluva storyteller. But you’ll have to keep proving your worth.Iknow your worth.Youknow your worth. But they… they’ll need reminders.”
She shoved the phone under her chin to shut down the tiny trembles that threatened to increase.
“So whatever gave you that spark today,” Viviane continued, “you seize on to that like it’s a lifeboat saving you from a sinkingTitanic. Got it?”
Failure was not an option. Going back to temp jobs or waiting tables was not an option. Living outside of her fantasy world, detaining stories in her head when they were painfully demanding to escape, was not an option. Mack had to do this. Shewoulddo this. Viviane had spent four years dedicated to Mack’s success. Her parents sacrificedeverything. She refused to disappoint them.
“Whatever I have to do,” Mack said, “I’ll do it.”
FIVE
CHARLIE’S DRINK SPECIAL: SUGARLESS SELF-DOUBT SMOOTHIE
Charlie scoured the supply inventory audit against the wrinkled bill for the third time. The numberscouldn’tbe right. Sure, she’d been a little scattered lately, but this? She slid her finger across the paper and reviewed again, one by one. She obviously made a big, fat, rookie mistake and just needed to calm down.
A box cutter landed next to her with a loud, metallic clank, and she nearly smacked her head into the counter. “Dude! Really?”
“Sorry. I thought you heard me behind you.” He reached behind her for a marker. “Is there something in the air? Between you and Remi, I don’t know which one of you has been the crankiest lately.”
Ben’s roommate, Remi, had her salty moments, but she’d just gone through a terrible breakup and was working out her wounds in her own way. “Give Remi a break. She’s had a tough go lately.” Charlie slammed a box into the corner with her foot.
Ben’s eyebrows bunched. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.“Nothing.” She repeatedly clicked her pen.
Ben yanked it from her hands and tossed it in a container. “Go trim your bush.”
“Really?” She wasnotfeeling his jokes today.
He pulled out her bonsai-tree pruning shears from the drawer under the till and stuffed it in her palm. “You’re stressed. Go trim your weird-ass bush.”
Oh.“Fine. But not ’cause I’m stressed.” The yellowing tree in the corner begging for mercy caught her eye. “It’s because it looks sad and neglected. Like your soul.”
He grinned and pushed her towards the windowsill.
The coziest spot in the shop—the lime-green sitting chair with the throne back—was perfect for the activity. She picked the tree from the bookshelf and sat down. The gratifying crunch from snipping branches liberated the strain from her body. After several minutes her breathing slowed. “The paper-napkin supplier increased their costs by twenty-five percent this month.”
Ben hoisted the recycling bin from the covered container. “Did they send you an email or anything?”
Maybe?
The dead leaves fell to the table as she pictured her overflowing drawer stuffed with unopened bills, the multiple unanswered emails from the remodelers, and the declined phone calls from unknown numbers.
Probably.
When her aunt Rosie left Charlie her house in her will, Charlie had ached to recreate the love that Rosie had vacated and began her mission to convert the main living area into a coffee shop. But the countless hours spent researching business permits, food handler licenses, insurance, and building accessibility—on top of exploring the best coffee beans and local bakeries—was clearly not enough. The names of remodelers, lenders, and business loan officers blended like a rancid cocktail and slammed against her skull.
“I gotta go back and check,” she finally said, and swept the trimmings into her hand.
Next month she’d catch up on the stifling paperwork when she hired another staff to focus more on management. Or maybe the following month, so she could save a little longer on labor costs. Or maybe never, because her house would be repo’d by then, she’d be on the street with nothing but her favorite pink dinosaur slippers and yellow duck robe, and none of this mattered anyway.
Her phone rattled against the counter. She raced from the nook and knocked over a cup of pens reaching for it. They scattered across the desk and fell onto the floor with a clatter.Breathe.
