Page 30 of The Arrangement

"It'll be okay. I know it will." I pulled away, "I know a lot is going on right now, but don't give up just yet."

Looking over her shoulder at the one-dollar bill hanging over the makeshift desk next to her and Elaine's photo sent a pang through my heart. I would not let this place go, not without a fight.

"Yes, of course, hun," the older woman sighed, running her hand down her face as she looked around. "I'm going to go ahead and hop out. Maybe see some friends. Would you mind staying a few hours over and closing up?"

I nodded, grateful for the extra two hours. However, my mind was so restless as I sat at the counter, mulling over what to do. I get that some people might not understand why I loved this job, especially at my age. I had earnestly tried to get a job in publishing after I graduated, just to do something that involved my favorite thing. And I did get an offer, and a damn good one. Three states away.

Closing my eyes, I pushed back the memory of the feeling of elation that had turned into despair when I realized that I couldn't leave my grandmother here alone. Not after all she had done for me. My grandfather had died, and no matter the salary, no matter the high-rise apartment, I could never live with myself if something happened to her after I left. I received a call that she was in the hospital and that she had fallen, the day after that offer that I ultimately rejected.

In my heart and very soul, I knew it was the right thing to do and I don't regret it one bit. But even doing the right thing hurts sometimes,and a piece of me still mourns the life I could have had if things had turned out differently.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts like an Etch a Sketch. That hadn't worked out, and now the one job I loved could be getting shut down, and I was having sex on the internet for money. Jesus Christ, what was happening?

It was at that time that my phone decided to vibrate, breaking my train of bleak thoughts.

Unit 2: Hey, checking in; I compiled a video from the footage last night so you could get an idea of what a real one is like. Can I send it to the email that you wrote on your form?

Me: Yeah, that's cool.

Typing bubbles appeared and then disappeared, only to reappear again.

Unit 2: You good Clark?

Me: Yeah, just a bad day at work

Unit 2: Sorry to hear that. Is it a bad time to ask if you feel comfortable moving forward?

It was my turn to pause, my mind going a mile a minute as I read and reread his text. Did I want to go forward? I raised my jaw, trying to remember the last time I did something without weighing every consequence and outcome. Without having a three-day panic attack about making the wrong decision and still somehow making the wrong decision regardless. I’d stayed with Dylan for four damn years because it was comfortable. It was boring, but it was safe. I didn't want to be safe anymore. I didn't want to be comfortable. Comfortable was getting me nowhere.

Me: Yeah, I'm off Friday evening. Does 10 sound good to you?

I hit send before I could rethink it. Quinn replied almost immediately as if in relief.

Unit 2: My calendar is clear that day. We'll touch base on Thursday for details; I'll text you some themes. Nothing hardcore for our first video.

Me: Sounds good, just send me the info.

He replied with a thumbs-up, and I received a notification immediately after that I had gotten an email. It was [email protected] had no subject. The body of the email was simply a link with a password. That was definitely not something I needed to open at work.

I tucked away my phone as soon as my first customer of the day walked in the door.

The restof the day was a busy blur. We had an influx of customers, mainly due to the hotel a few blocks down receiving a traveling tour of antique enthusiasts who were delighted to find a local coffee shop and bookstore side by side. Many of them were older adults, and I loved being able to talk about our collections and show off our local authors while directing them to a few of my personal favorite locally owned businesses.

All in all, it would have been a great day had I not had that cloud of misery hanging over me from my conversation with Emma. I couldn't even comprehend what my life would look like without the bookstore. It might not be much, but it was almost 2,000 square feet of books including a loft that overlooked the main hall, complete with string lights I’d hung myself and comfortable chairs Emma and I thrifted on some of my favorite "work days." There were the fresh flowers we got from the local florist across the street every week and, of course, the smell of roasting coffee beans that wafted through shared air ducts from The Grind.

To me? This place was a paradise, a place that not only paid me and my grandmother's bills but was a literal dream from my childhood. I didn't need a six-figure salary to be happy, though healthcare would be nice—but really, who has that these days?

It felt like everything I had built was slowly coming apart, and no matter how quickly I tried to put it back together, it fell to pieces at my feet. It was all I could do to go through the motions of the day, my laptop was left disregarded on my desk.

It was dark by 6:00 p.m. when we closed, so I wrapped my hand-knitted scarf from Sarah around my neck (the thing was massive but ridiculously warm) and locked up. It was beyond frigid; it felt as if the air from the ocean, even if it was miles away, was blowing right down my neck and instantly making my eyes burn with the cold.

First thing I was doing when I got that paycheck from my work with Wolfe? Radiator. Immediately. Maybe even change the air filters so the car would actually heat up before I got to work. What a novelty.

I trudged home, exhausted and defeated. Once I finally reached the steps about thirty minutes later, the door opened before I could even touch the door knob.

"Clark? What the fuck, did you walk again?" Quinn (of course) exclaimed, looking around to see me and leaning against the doorframe in obvious annoyance. "It's like 45 degrees out here!"

I rolled my eyes as I walked by him and grumbled, "I know, and I feel every one of them." He ignored the sarcasm and watched me fumble with my keys. To be fair, I did have like 10 keys on one keyring, only four of which I actually used, but I was too scared to get rid of the others in case I remembered what they were for.

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