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Beaming, my friend lifted the bottle. “I think this is the nicest bottle of bourbon I’ve ever had.”
I braced my elbows on the shiny, clean bar. “How’d you like to help me with managing this place?”
Jason’s jaw slackened. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve been offered a significant business opportunity in Miami, and I’ve decided to take it.”
“But what about Tomes and Tumblers?” he asked, glancing around the space we’d worked so hard on over the last few months.
“I know. But this offer won’t last.”
“Still—”
“I’m going to do it.” I paused. “Taking this job means I won’t be able to do the day-to-day management of the store. I’ll have to be more hands off than I expected, so I want you to take it over for me.”
He placed the bourbon back on the marble. “Except I don’t have any experience in store management.”
“You know how to lead people.”
“A few guys on a real estate team.” He shrugged.
“That’s enough for me to know you’d be great at this.” I slapped the counter. “So, what do you think?”
“I’ll consider it,” he replied, and I saw a bit of a twinkle in his eye, a hint that he wasn’t going to say no.
Satisfied with his answer, I moved on to one more review of the bookshelves on the far side of the room. Less than ten minutes, and the store would be open. That made me proud. Working in finance had once felt like the only thing I was good at—managing numbers and seeing market trends was the only real thing I could do professionally.
This project changed that perception. It showed me I could do more than one thing well.
And that mattered.
We officially threw on the lights and opened the front doors at six that evening. It wasn’t long before a smattering of city officials, residents, and even the teenagers from the Fourth of July parade packed the space. They ate appetizers and milled through the store sipping coffee drinks and samplers of the craft cocktail selections, and mocktails I thought would be a great addition for the minors. Kayleigh arrived with a small fern she insisted was good luck; Javier showed up with some craft tequila, and Julie Cross presented me with a first edition of her bestsellingChicago Veteransseries. By seven, I estimated at least one hundred fifty people filled the main room, including one unexpected guest.
My mom.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” I said when I saw her walk through the front door. She was tanner than I’d ever seen her and a brightness shone behind her eyes. Florida agreed with her in a big way.
“Sometimes it’s fun to pull off a surprise,” she replied, and pulled me into a tight hug that crushed me against her large turquoise necklace. “Especially on opening night.”
“I’m thrilled you came. Let me give you the official tour.”
I steered my mom to the bar and had the bartender make her an old-fashioned, then took my time weaving her through the crowd and around the store. I pointed out all the small details Javier and I had worked on over the summer—the original brick we blasted and sanded to perfection, the chevron pattern on the inlaid wood flooring, the way we made sure to align the bookshelves with the stained-glass window, and more. And when we ended the tour at the small stage, I was proud of what I’d shown her. Really proud.
“This place is so warm,” she said, her drink halfway finished. “And I see your personality in so much of it.”
“I’m going to guess that’s a good thing.”
“It sure is.” She patted me on the arm, but then her face changed. “But I have to say, I’m also... worried.”
“How so?”
“Well,” —Mom took a deep breath and glanced around the room— “I know there’s a lot of excitement for a new store in town, but... how much of it is going to last?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“Just that I know it’s so hard to run a small business. Probably the hardest thing to do these days.”
“I’ve got a plan.”
