Page 25 of Fall or Nothing

“The shelf—I meant. It should be permanently attached to the wall,” he clarified and swallowed, his eyes on mine turning apologetic, like a man recognizing a wound he’d caused without meaning to and not knowing how to fix it.

His gaze finally flicked away to my lavender oil bottle. “Yours?” I moved my hand, and he placed the bottle gently on the table, still bracing the shelves steady with his other arm. “How much?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never sold anything before.”

“What’s in them?”

I listed off the lemon, the lavender, the rosemary, and more, and then the glass bottles I’d chosen because the plastic ones cheapened the whole thing.

“Figure the material cost per bottle. Add your labor hourly, processing and labeling both. Double that. Then add a keystone markup, ten to twenty percent depending on your market. That’s your retail price.”

The formula rolled off his tongue so naturally it made my stomach flutter, like he actually believed in what I could do.

It made me want things I had no business wanting from a man with one foot out the door.

I gaped at him. “You sound awfully knowledgeable in retail operations.”

“Uh, well, my brothers all went into business,” he rushed to respond.

“Brothers? How many?”

“Several.” He glanced at my bottle again. “A business name and logo, and professionally printed labels wouldn’t hurt either.”

“That assumes I sell more of these after today. Which is doubtful.”

“Why? You could start a little business on the side, call it Wylde Blooms. Watch it grow, and add more to your savings account.”

“I already have enough jobs in town, thank you very much. Don’t need to add another thing.”

“Haven’t you ever thought about doing something bigger? Even leaving this little town?”

My hands settled on my hips. “What do you have against Forest Grove?”

“It’s just so… small.”

I huffed. “Or maybe your life is too big, Mister Job Back East.” Jeez, I even air-quoted with my fingers. “Look, it’s not so bad here. If you’d stay a while, you might actually see everything it offers.”

“Like what?” He rolled his eyes.

I almost saidLike me,but stopped myself just in time as Jake pushed back through the door with the drill under one arm and a level in his hand.

“Alright. Let me at those shelves. Don’t worry, Sage, we’ll have these secure in no time,” he assured, pushing the finger trigger of the drill for dramatic noise and effect. I sulked away from Carter’s side.

Fifteen minutes later, the wall anchors properly set, the men stepped back, admiring their work. Ash had already settled the bill, taking everything to go, and they gathered their coats.

Harper thanked them all and insisted on paying them, but they exited before she could get money out of the register.

Carter lingered behind, donning my father’s coat. The sight of him in it caught me by surprise. The way he filled it out gave it new life. My father may even have liked him—if he was the type of man to stick around. But he wasn’t.

He paused near the table where I worked to put my best guess on the price cards at last.

“Have a nice day,” I offered the generic line I gave many customers.

The corner of his mouth curved. “I’ll try. Where can I find you on Friday? I owe you for the clothes.”

“See, that’s the thing about small towns. A person can’t really hide.” I gestured around the shop. “Ask anyone and they’ll probably have seen me and can point you in the right direction.”

He scoffed and walked out. My shoulders dropped; I was cruel and knew it. Through the window, I watched him catch up with Jake on the sidewalk, the two of them falling into step, breath clouding in the cold air.