Page 23 of Time After Time
Rob drummed his fingers on the desk, leaning back as he spoke. “The potential for financial gain is huge. Your hard workand creativity can bring in earnings that might even outpace what you’d make as an employee. It could set you on a path to financial freedom and leave a legacy.” His grin took on a knowing edge. “And then there’s the flexibility. You can set your own schedule, whether it’s for family, personal time, or just to enjoy more freedom.”
“But those arejustthe positives, right?” Gen shifted in her seat, her focus entirely on him as he spoke. She sat up straighter, her body language showing she was fully engaged, her brows raised and lips parted as she listened.
Rob’s lips pressed together, his gaze momentarily drifting as he rested his chin on his hand. His fingers tapped against his cheek, and his eyes seemed to search for the right words. “Owning a business does come with a certain level of risk. It means investing your money, time, and passion into something with no guarantee of success. You must be ready to face the possibility of failure and learn from it.”
Gen exhaled softly, the sound almost inaudible, but I caught it. Her shoulders tensed for a moment, and a quick flicker of doubt crossed her face before she quickly straightened up, her expression back to neutral.
“Stress is a constant companion,” Rob admitted. “The responsibility of running a business, dealing with unforeseen challenges, and taking care of people can be overwhelming. It can take a toll on your mental and physical well-being. Because while you might have people you trust working with you… It’s hard to put more responsibility on someone else.”
He paused for a second, grabbing a bottle of water from under his desk and taking a long gulp. “In the beginning, you may find yourself working long hours. The business demands your constant attention, and there’s always something that needs to be done. And, of course, businesses operate in an ever-changing environment,” he emphasised. “Market trends,competition, and economic factors are all subject to change. Adaptability is crucial. You must be willing to make the necessary adjustments.”
The room felt smaller for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gen twisting her hands in her lap, her gaze distant, like she was still processing his words.
Rob exhaled, rubbing his chin as he leaned back, then began listing the things that needed to be done to run a business. With each word, my attention shifted more to Gen, wondering how she felt.
“You’ll figure it out.”
We both stood. Gen thanked him quietly, but there was something in her expression that made me stop. Her eyebrows were furrowed, but they trembled as they arched in the middle, the movement tugging at her nose, while her bottom lip had disappeared into her mouth. It was a look I couldn’t quite place—something unfamiliar. It threw me off more than anything—the fact that I had no idea what it meant.
I stepped into the hallway just in time to see Gen lift her hand to her mouth, almost biting at the skin around her nails. I took her hand before she could, giving it a light squeeze. She looked up at me, her eyes tired. “Talk to me.”
Gen let out a heavy sigh and turned to face me, her shoulders sagging as she stepped closer. She rested her forehead against my chest, and I instinctively placed my hand on the back of her head, massaging the spot.
“I... I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.” She paused, her gaze fixed on our joined hands. “What Robert said really made me think. I get that owning a business can be rewarding, but hearing all of that makes it seem so daunting. The risks, the challenges... It feels like jumping off a cliff, not knowing if you’ll land on solid ground or fall into water. I’m just worried—about handling it all, and what’d happen if it doesn’t work out.”
She traced a finger along the back of my hand, the tip brushing over an old burn scar from when I was younger.
“And yet,” she continued, stepping back to meet my eyes, “I’m still drawn to the idea of starting my own business. The problem is... I need a passion for it. Something I really care about. I want to feel excited, to feel driven, but right now... I just feel lost. Like I’m going in circles.”
I listened closely, wishing I could chase away the worries clouding her mind. Honestly, I’d give anything to take them all away. “Gen, it’s okay. Finding your passion takes time. It’s a process, and you don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Sometimes, it’ll just come to you when you least expect it. And when it does, I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”
I pulled her in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, and held her there for a moment, rocking us. Her breathing slowed, and I let the quiet stretch out between us. “There’s no rush. You’ve got all the time you need, Wheels. I’m here. Always.”
I loved calling her that,Wheels. A sweet nickname that had stuck over the years. But every now and then, I’d remember the first time it made her cry.
It was back in school, during some traffic safety activity. They’d set up a little course with tiny traffic lights and lanes, trying to teach us how to be responsible drivers and pedestrians. Everything was fine until she had to tell the teacher she couldn’t ride a bike without training wheels. The other kids overheard, and before long, the teasing started. Her eyes went wide, tears threatening to spill, and all I wanted to do was knock those stupid miniature traffic lights over.
Wheels. That’s what they started calling her, mocking her for something so small, something that shouldn’t have mattered. And then... I started calling her that too. Not to hurt her—never to hurt her—but because I thought if I said it softly enough, sweetly enough, she might stop associating it with their cruelty.Maybe she’d stop feeling that sting, stop the tears before they even had a chance to fall.
Over time, the nickname stuck, but so did the memory. Every now and then, I’d see a flicker in her eyes, not of pain, but something else, something tender.
Gen settledback onto the same barstool she had before, humming absent-mindedly as she brushed her fingers along the cool counter. She sipped from the strawberry milkshake. Yes, another one, that I’d ordered for her, hoping it would make her feel better.
I glanced from her to the glass case with the button labelled ‘Only press if you are a maniac.’ I didn’t care that the diner was packed with tourists who didn’t know me. In fact, it was better that way—I’d be remembered as the crazy guy they met on holiday in Golden Sands. What mattered was that I knew Gen would laugh if I did what I had in mind.
Grinning, I leaned over and pressed the button. Immediately, there were shocked gasps from the tourists and some chuckles from the locals as the lights flickered off. Michael Sembello’sManiacblasted through the speakers, and the disco ball above us began to lower, spinning slowly in the dim light.
“Sebastian, what the?—.”
Before she could finish, I sprang off my barstool and started dancing in front of everyone. It wasn’t pretty, definitely not the best dancing in Golden Sands, but I didn’t care. I was doing it for her.
Many of the regulars shook their heads in amusement; this wasn’t the first time I’d done something like this. Last time, though, I was just a kid. Back then, it was Gen who was curiousabout the button. She pressed it and turned bright red when everyone in the diner turned to stare at her.
Before long, laughter and applause filled the air, and a few people even pulled out their phones.Great. Even Rob, who had just come back from his office, was doubled over with laughter. Butthis—this was all for Gen.
She shook her head, laughing so hard she almost choked on her milkshake. Rob, still laughing, patted her back. I hoped she knew this was my way of making her smile.
Soon enough, she was clapping and cheering along, her eyes shining so brightly that I almost tripped over my own feet, blinking as if the world had slowed down.
