Page 4 of Waiting for Tuesday

“HA! We’re in L.A. Nice try!”

I grinned at her, my mood lifting already. I could always count on Becky for that. To defuse the situation and make me realize life was way too short to take this seriously. I grabbed the bottle of Spirulina and twisted off the cap.

“Are you making some of the green crap again?” Becky asked, not waiting for an answer before yanking open a cabinet door. “Don’t you have any bread? Chocolate? Anything?”

“It’s a smoothie, and that’s where my bowls go. You should know that by now.”

Becky was my best friend—more like a sister, actually. I spent every summer, every spring break of my childhood with her, and since finally settling back in the town where we’d met, she was the one person in the world who would know stuff like this. “Don’t you work today?” I asked, peeling a banana and adding it to the blender.

“Yeah, in an hour.” She frowned and closed the door. “Nothing—I’ll have to drive-thru somewhere.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing nothing I said would sway her from the artery clogging food she adored. “What time are you off? I’m meeting the contractor later this afternoon. I don’t want to go alone.”

She jumped off the counter and grinned. “I’m off at three.” She grabbed another orange before heading for the front door. “And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Chapter TWO

Tuesday

* * *

“Well, this is it,” I said with bated breath.

It was just past four in the afternoon, still slightly chilly with the onset of fall, and I stood on tiptoes peering into the windows of the run-down building that would soon be my new store. The twelve-hundred-square-foot space didn’t look like much, but it was my everything. My life savings, my reputation, my future—broken windows and all.

Becky pushed herself from the side of my truck and came to stand beside me. Just as she’d been doing every day since second grade, when she was the biggest girl in class, and I was the hippie girl destined to be made fun of.

“It’s adorable, but why does it look like a bakery?”

“’Cause it was. A long time ago…”

I turned to the dirty windows and cleared a patch big enough to see through with the heel of my hand. The building had been a godsend,nestled in its own small parking lot like a little gingerbread house in the middle of a big city—but it was so worn down it was hard to see past all the mess. I closed my eyes, pressed my back into the warped wooden siding, and took in the sounds of rushing traffic as people made their way home from work.

“Do you think this is a mistake, Becky? I mean, it’s all the space I’ll ever need, but?”

She touched my arm interrupting me. “Tuesday—it’s perfect.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I hadn’t realized until that moment, but I desperately needed to hear those words. My own mother didn’t approve. And even though I wanted this more fiercely than anything I’d ever wanted in my life, her fears always gave me pause. “Did I tell you it has a kitchen?”

Becky laughed and shook her head. “So you can make breakfast in the morning?”

“No.” I peeked through the cracks in the boarded windows, choking back a ball of emotion I wasn’t expecting. “I’ll be able to make all my product here: Lotions, lip balms, all my soaps. I’ll be able to increase production by at least fifty percent, maybe even host classes eventually.”

I was shocked by all the emotions pouring out of me, but this shop was three years in the making, harboring a lifetime of childhood dreams, fears, and my future. It was my first step to finally feeling settled.

“I’ll have my own office in the back room.” I turned to face her. “No more storage unit, no more renting space from pervy Mr. Chavez. I would even have space for artists to sell their products. I’ll have the room, and?”

But then I noticed Becky was crying. I dropped my bag and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just… I’m so happy for you.” She wiped her eyes. “You’ve wanted this for so long.”

Fighting back tears of my own, I stepped back a little. “Don’t cry. You’ll makemecry, and you’ll ruin your mascara.”

Just then, a red convertible pulled into the parking lot, and we both turned in unison.

“They’re here.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and squared my shoulders.

It was hard to keep my voice from shaking. Hard to clear the tears from my eyes and hard to breathe. This wasn’t just a little adventure for me—this was my everything. If this project failed…

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