Coming Home to You (16 page)

The weather these days could only be defined as schizophrenic. It’s up one day and down the next without any real direction, and it makes dressing everyday a challenge. I go out to my car in the morning and practically turn into a popsicle, but things are warmed up to shorts weather by the time lunch rolls around. It’s insane! But you’ve lived here long enough that I’m sure you know all about that. How long have you lived here, anyway?

On a totally random note, I went to a work banquet thing last night and found out that my boss had been fired, right there at the restaurant. The whole situation was extremely awkward, especially since she’d set me up with her cousin. The blind date thing never really got off the ground, though, because he had to take her home about five minutes after he got there, she was so drunk. He gave me his card and told me to call him sometime. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m not really used to the whole calling first thing. I’m the woman, and I don’t think it’s really my job to have to make the first move. Besides, I’m not even really sure I’m ready to hit the dating scene yet. It’s only been a year since Paul died—is that too soon?

Well, I’ve probably overwhelmed you with things to read, so I’m going to close and give your brain a break. I hope things are well with you!

Zoë

Chapter 15

I stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused on the popcorn that was blurring together under my unblinking gaze.

I had a choice in this, I really did. It was one I’d held off on making, this whole time that Paul had been gone. There was money, sitting, just waiting for me to decide what I was going to do with it.

For some reason, it scared me. The mere idea of it was almost unsettling. To use it would be admitting Paul was truly gone. Not that I didn’t really know that already, not that I was denying it, by any means—but it was still one more thing to add weight. And then there was the burden of responsibility I felt in making sure I used that money properly, that I didn’t make a decision with it that proved to be a mistake.

I hated to make mistakes, hated to fail.

It wasn’t a lot of money—the life insurance policy Paul had taken out on himself hadn’t been huge—but it was big enough that it would have covered my current salary for two years.

Two whole years.

But what would I do? What did I
want
to do? It had been so long since I’d given it any thought that I really wasn’t sure what I would do if I’d ever been given the chance.

What did I want to be when I grew up?

I stared at the ceiling some more.

What was I good at, really? What would I be able to do that I could make into a business? That was the big question, wasn’t it?

And who was to say that this was really the wisest thing to do? I’d always had a fallback plan, and this would leave me without one. If I quit my job, I would have to make it on my own, and I had no guarantee of a paycheck in that. I’d never left a job without having another one lined up, another sure thing.

This would be far from a sure thing.

But maybe it was time for me to step outside of the sure things. The sad little abandoned storefront flashed in my mind, its graffiti message blazing across my eyes like an afterimage.

Live with intent
.

I picked up the phone.

“Kate?” I said when she answered.

“Hey, Zoë, I was just thinking about you.” Her voice sounded clear and close, despite the miles.

“You were?”

“Yup, I were.”

“Let me guess. You were thinking you wish you were still here so that you and I could rent a bunch of chick flicks and have a marathon movie session complete with much wine and sushi,” I supplied, closing my eyes and smiling at the idea.

Kate had only left a couple of days ago, but it still felt like an eternity had passed already. She’d had a whirlwind trip in and out of town, gone again before we’d gotten to spend much time together. There had been so much to tell her, so much that I’d wanted to say, while she was here, face to face; but I hadn’t had the chance.

It was indescribable, sometimes, how much I missed her. How much I wished she was there the way she had once been, within arm’s reach whenever I needed her. She seemed so far away now.
Everyone
seemed so far away.

Kate laughed, and I could envision her on the other end of the line, tossing her thick blonde hair back. I’d always envied that hair, ever since we were little. I realized I was fingering my own curls, frizzed out from the humidity of the day.

“Wow, does that sound good right now,” Kate said, breaking into my thoughts. “I’ve missed you. Terribly,” she finished, echoing my own unspoken sentiments.

“Glad to hear it,” I said, grinning. “I miss you too, you have no idea. But that’s not actually why I’m calling.”

“Oh?” I could hear the curiosity in her voice.

“I need your advice on something, if you have a minute.”

“For you, my love, I always have a minute,” Kate replied without hesitation.

“I think I should quit my job,” I blurted, before I could lose my nerve.

“Yes.”

“
Yes?
” I could have been knocked over by a feather, I was so surprised. “No, ‘Have you thought this through, Zoë?’ No, ‘Have you got another job, Zoë?’ Just, ‘
Yes
?’”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to assume from your response that you’ve been thinking this is something I should have done for a while now?” I ventured.

“Yes.”

“Kate?”

“Yes?”

“Stop saying that!” I shrieked.

“Okay, so then tell me what you’re wanting to do instead. You’ve obviously been thinking about this—and probably over-thinking it, knowing you—rather than just making some snap decision because you’re having a bad day at the office. That’s not something you do, Zoë. So tell me. What’s the plan?” she prompted.

I shifted on the couch, pulling my legs up under me in an attempt to get a little more comfortable. I picked at a stray thread on the cushion beside me, wondering if Kate would be able to help me clarify the muddle of ideas swirling around in my head.

“Well,” I began, feeling my lack of certainty sink a little heavier. “I think I want to open a store. I found a great place for it and everything.”

“So what’s the problem?” Kate asked reasonably.

“I don’t know
what kind
of store I want to open.”

There was laughter on the other end of the phone.

“Is that all?” she asked, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Zoë, you’ve always had a great eye for fashion and make-up. You can put stuff together in your sleep, and you’re always reading all of those glossy fashion magazines. Work with that, sweetie. Do what you know and what you love,” she said simply.

I smiled. This was getting exciting.

There was still adventure to be found in my life, even without Paul—and I was finally starting to see it.

Kate wasn’t the only advocate of my leaving my job to open my own store.

Ray joined my parents in supporting my decision one hundred percent, and my parents were even offering to give me a loan so that I would have some start-up money to fund and outfit my new store. I was still in deep consideration when it came to the whole idea of borrowing money from family, but I was leaning toward accepting. It would eliminate the need to apply for a bank loan, plus I wouldn’t have to worry about interest rates. Sure, I could assert my independence by insisting on getting an actual, official loan; but this wasn’t really about pride. This was about doing something with my life that made me feel like I was really, truly fulfilled. The money wasn’t a handout—I made it perfectly clear that that would not be acceptable. It was a loan, and I would pay it back in monthly installments.

The idea was looking better and better all the time.

So now the next steps would be to put in my notice at work, buy the building, revamp it in any ways necessary, get all my permits, and stock the store.

Lots to do, and most of it was completely foreign to me. I had no idea how to open a store and what paperwork was involved, but I was determined.

This was going to happen.

I
needed
this to happen, needed it to succeed. Otherwise, I would have to go crawling back to my boss and beg for my old job. Not that
he
would have a problem with that, but
I
would.

So many things would be involved in failure—having to swallow my pride and return to a job I hated, having to pay back money on a dream that had gone up in flames.

Having a dream go up in flames, period.

And then there was the humiliation of having to close the doors and put up a For Sale sign, at which point all the world would be privy to the fact that I had failed.

Nope, failure was not an option. I was going to this, and it was going to be madly successful.

I was going to have the best store in Pensacola, and women would flock from miles away to come to
my
store.

My store
. It had a nice ring to it.

I took the day off to find it.

I knew it might take a little while, since I hadn’t exactly paid much attention to where I was going or what was around me when I’d stumbled upon the little building. But I was determined to find it. I had plans for that place, but I wouldn’t even be able to begin implementing those plans if I couldn’t find it again.

I started my wandering, heading off in the same direction I remembered going when I’d left the office in my blind rage. I made a few false starts, but finally, miraculously, I turned down a street and saw it.

My store.

Well, not
my
store. Not yet, but it would be soon, with any luck.

I walked toward it, inspecting the outer façade for any major structural damage that would make this entire exercise a moot point or even just greatly complicate things. So far, so good. To my untrained eyes, it appeared that the only thing the small building really needed was a good scrub down to get the graffiti off. Granted, I had no idea what kind of shape the roof was in, much less all the innards beyond what I could see through the windows, but I was hopeful.

I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered through the grimy picture windows, trying to get a better look inside. Had I not been concentrating so hard, I might have heard the footsteps approaching behind me.

“Help you?” a gruff voice said, startling me so much I squealed.

I whirled around to face the voice, hoping I wasn’t going to find myself nose to nose with a gun or a knife or some other instrument that might possibly remove bodily parts. That particular surprise wasn’t one I ever wanted to have to endure.

“Um,” I started, trying to register every detail of the person that stood in front of me—including any weapons he might be holding.

“Um,” I stammered again.

No weapons, no menacing body language. Just a weathered, wizened man who looked like he knew his way around a toolbox.

He raised thick salt and pepper eyebrows in mild amusement, a gleam of interest showing in his grey eyes. “Yes?” he prompted.

“I was just checking out the building. I’m opening a store and looking for a space, and I was thinking this one might be perfect.”

Thankfully, I’d remembered how to speak like an intelligent person instead of a blithering idiot. Hopefully anything that came out of my mouth now would serve to erase the poor first impression I’d probably given him.

“Really?” The man’s curiosity now seemed truly piqued, and he looked past me at the storefront. “You want to open a store in
there
?” he asked, pointing at the vacant little building behind me as though to make sure we were talking about the same place.

I nodded, wondering why he seemed so shocked by my interest.

“Yes,” I said surely. “The sign
does
say For Sale, so I’m assuming that it
is
, indeed, for sale.” I posed it as a statement, rather than a question in an attempt to lend authority to my voice, since the man was more than slightly intimidating. Especially in light of the fact that we were alone on this relatively empty street.

“Yes. You would be correct on that,” he said matter-of-factly, with the smallest hint of a smile. “This place hasn’t exactly generated much interest is all, and I been trying to unload it for about two years now.”

“Really?” I was surprised.

True, it wasn’t in the most high traffic area, but it was still in a good spot. Just a hop over a few streets, and you were right smack in the middle of all the more mainstream activity, which made it a jewel box locale. Perfect for a boutique. And while the neighboring buildings weren’t screaming for attention, they were still strong enough presences that I was hopeful. After all, who didn’t love a good cup of tea from an elegant little tea room or a Swedish massage from an actual Swede? I wondered fleetingly what had previously been in residence in this now vacant space.

“I’m Glenn, by the way,” the man said finally, extending a thick, calloused hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Zoë,” I replied. I smiled my most winning smile at him, since he was, after all, the man who held all the cards at this point. Couldn’t hurt my chances any to be friendly with him, now could it?

“Zoë. I like that,” Glenn said, nodding slowly as though he was digesting it.

I brightened my smile a little more.

“Thanks. I do, too. And I really like this space,” I replied, sweeping the building with my hand. “Any chance I could take a look inside?”

“Sure thing.” Glenn stepped around me, reaching into the pocket of his well-worn jeans to extract a set of keys. “It doesn’t really look like much, but it’s a good place. Well-built, good light. Doesn’t hardly need any repairs, either. Plumbing and electrical were all recently updated, roof’s perfect. All it really needs is a good scrubbing and a few coats of paint slapped on it.”

I looked around as he spoke, stepping past him through the doorway. “So, if you don’t mind me asking—why do you want to sell? And why hasn’t anyone already snatched it up?”

He shrugged, making his own visual sweep of the interior. “Don’t really have the time or the want to run a store, since my wife died. As for the second question—haven’t really found the right buyer. Had a few people looking, but none of them were quite right.” Glenn shrugged again and stuffed the key ring back into his pocket.