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P.S. I found your old business plans and sketches for your shop and included them with this letter. Maybe they will inspire you to open your store after all these years. I hope if nothing else; it gives you a smile. I love you, kiddo.
I fold the note back to the way I found it and remove the yellowed papers from inside the manila envelope. The image almost takes my breath away. I don’t remember drawing this photo, but it becomes so familiar once its in front of me. I had drawn the small brick building downtown. The windows are covered in signs proclaiming, “BOOK SALE!”. The banner across the front door declares the name of the business as “The Bookshop on Main.” Just like what was written on the faux book I found it in. The second page was full of business information, as dreamt up by a ten-year-old, of course. I wrote the different sections the store would have (non-fiction, fiction, kids, religious, cookbooks, etc.) and I had detailed drawings of the kids’ area complete with plenty of bean bag chairs for comfortable seating. I had it all figured out at ten years old. If only I knew I could make it work as an adult. Even with the money that’s coming to me, is it worth the risk? What if I fail and lose everything Hazel worked so hard to save for me?
Right now, I can only put my predicament to the side and clock in for work. The rest of the day goes by in a blur. When I’m not busy assisting customers, I find pockets of time to work on painting the house. As the evening draws near, and I’m just finishing up the second coat in the bathroom, I’m interrupted by a knock at the door.
I can’t help but immediately feel excited. While Andrew didn’t tell me he was coming over tonight, I have a feeling it’s going to be him, anyway. Who else could it possibly be? After spending the last few evenings together, I’m enjoying our new little routine.
“Who is it?” I call out across the room, as I head towards the door.
“Uber Eats.” Andrew yells back from the porch.
I grin and pull the door open. I’m half expecting him to pull me in for a kiss, but his hands are full. He walks right past me to the kitchen with a cast iron pot in his oven mitt covered hands.
“I didn’t know this was a daily thing.” I say, following him into the kitchen. “Good thing it was your turn, though, otherwise you might have starved tonight.”
“You had a busy day.” He says, looking around the room. “It looks so good in here.” He puts the pot on the stove and finally leans in to kiss me lightly. He presses his forehead against mine and kisses my nose. “Be right back.” He whispers, before turning and heading right back out the door.
I move to the sink to wash my hands and as I’m drying them on a floral dishtowel; he comes back in with a cake pan full of cinnamon rolls.
“Are we having breakfast for dinner?” I ask, moving towards the covered pot on the stove. But once I lift the lid, a savory scent hits my nose, catching me off guard. “Chili?” I ask, confused.
“What, you don’t like chili?” He asks, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest with a raised brow.
“I like chili.” I scrunch my nose. “But I’m confused about the cinnamon rolls.”
“Don’t act like you’ve never had chili with cinnamon rolls.”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not a thing.”
“You went to school here in Fawn Creek, right?”
“Yes.”
“We used to eat this in the cafeteria like once a month.” He says.
“I most certainly did not eat chili with cinnamon rolls in the cafeteria. Maybe only old people like you were served that.” I say, scrunching my nose.
“What a minute. How old do you think I am?” He asks as he works on pulling bowls and a plate from the cabinet.
“Based on your food choices, I’m thinking at least 87,” I respond, crossing my arms.
“I’m 33! How old are you?” He asked, backing away from me suspiciously.
“I’m 28.” I ponder for a second. “So, maybe they stopped the chili and cinnamon roll thing after your class.”
“Nope, my little brother is 22. They definitely served it to him, too. I remember Grandma used to make it for us all the time and we talked about it. I can’t believe you don’t remember this.”
“I definitely never mixed the two together, if they served them this way.” I take a seat at the table.
“Well, try it.” He sets a bowl in front of me and takes a seat. “It’s a Midwestern delicacy.”
I roll my eyes. “Since you have such strong feelings about this combination, I will try it just for you, but I will not like it.”
I tear off a piece of roll while scrunching my nose. Cautiously, I dip the bread into the chili and bring it to my mouth. However, I am pleasantly surprised once the flavors hit my tongue. The sweetness of the cinnamon roll mixes with the spicy flavor of the chili, and I don’t know why, but the combination works. It works really, really well actually. “Holy crap. That’s fantastic.” I say, before scooping another spoonful of chili into my mouth. “Who would have thought that those completely different things would be so good together?”
“Kinda like me and you.” He says with a wink.
His words make me melt, deep at my core and I know for sure that I’m in a lot deeper than I ever planned to be.
