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She wasn’t wrong. Being competitive was a trait that could be good or bad, depending on the circumstances. Right then, it felt like a positive quality. Rocket fuel that was helping keep The Green Frog afloat. So many small businesses were going under all around us. Inflation, online shopping, crime, and more were all threats owners and managers had lost the will to keep fighting.
Not me.
Working at The Green Frog had given me life when I needed it most, an outlet to direct myself when my life in Chicago fell apart. I wasn’t going to let it down; I wasn’t going to let it die off in the face of setbacks. So what if last year’s plan for the parade wasn’t going to work this year? I’d adjust. I’d make changes. I’d make it work.
Always.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROBERT
I hired four intrepid high schoolers to help me, two guys and two girls. They all wanted to go to art school. Scott wanted to be a graphic designer, Ashleigh already sold prints of her work on Etsy and had a decent following on TikTok, Cade wanted to be a professional photographer, and Brianna had won a few regional awards for her paintings. This was a good gig for them, and they were all more enthusiastic than I expected. By the middle of June, they were working out of the back of the bookstore four mornings a week, building a structure made of paper mâché that we stored underneath a large tarp in the parking lot.
Watching them work was fun.
I liked the hustle and energy that came with having two projects going on at the same time on the property. There was almost a madness to it, a chaos that spread through the building, infecting everything. Javier and his team were up front, hammering, sawing, spackling, and gluing. Sometimes, it was just him, and sometimes there were two or three other workers with him. Then, in the back, the high school kids dug into their project, taking photos of it for social media: their hands covered in plaster, buckets everywhere, and supplies like chicken wire and old newspaper.
It was infectious.
I loved overseeing it all, making suggestions, and watching the vision come to life in front of me. This was totally different from what I’d done in New York City, where most of my daily grind consisted of balancing numbers on a spreadsheet. This was unique, and unlike the mindless repetition of that life, managing these two projects meant I had to work my brain in ways I hadn’t since college. I came in early and stayed late.
That’s how Anya found me one Saturday night in late June, ten days before the parade. It was after eight, and everyone else had gone home, but I remained behind, going over paint swatches for the wall behind the performance space in the store. I knew I wanted the navy, but which one? Imperial? Sapphire? Crescent?
So many choices.
“Anyone here?” she called as she walked through the unlocked front door. “I saw the lights on, and—”
“Oh, hey there.” I rounded the edge of the bar, hoping I looked and sounded casual. “Pardon the mess.”
“Still under construction, huh?”
“A few more weeks. We might be ready before Labor Day, though, maybe even mid-August.”
“Impressive.” She moved a few steps closer to me. “You’ve done a lot with this space.”
“Have you ever been here?”
