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He opened one eye then rolled over.

Brian was in the stockroom pretending to sort through a box of donations, but instead was reading the new Rolling Stone and occasionally calling out facts nobody had requested.

“Did you know Prince is only five two?” he yelled.

“You’ve told me three times.”

The mail had come late, which made me nervous because bills usually arrived on time.

I cut open the manila envelope from Minneapolis with my pocketknife and unfolded the letter inside.

Based on my call with them, Twin/Tone wanted me there Monday. They’d put the meeting in writing, along with travel reimbursement, a possible promotional partnership, a proposed Madison-Minneapolis distribution route, and a paragraph about Side A being uniquely positioned to break regional bands if I was willing to think beyond one store.

I read the letter twice while the Cars played through the speakers and a guy in a sleeveless shirt flipped through used Zeppelin with the concentration of a surgeon.

The bell over the door rang and Lorrie walked in wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts she’d bleached white, a Loverboy concert tee, and a pair of sunglasses pushed up into her hair which she’d pulled up into a ponytail. She carried a paper bag from the bakery with the top folded over twice.

The whole store seemed to notice her. Otis lifted his head. Brian straightened. Even the guy in the sleeveless Zeppelin shirt looked over. I swore she had no clue how beautiful she was.

“I brought cookies,” she said.

Brian pressed one hand to his chest. “I always knew you were my favorite co-worker.”

She smiled, but her eyes went to the letter in my hand, the logo showing at the top. “Is that from Twin/Tone?”

I nodded.

Her face lit, and for one second I forgot every reason this was complicated.

“So the call went well. What did they say?”

“They want me there Monday.”

She came behind the counter as if she belonged there, which was complicated because part of me had started believing she did. “That’s wonderful.”

Brian reached into the bakery bag. “I agree with Lorrie and also support any future business expansion that includes cookies.”

I gave him a look. He took two and retreated to the pop section to help a teenage girl holding up to records.

Lorrie took the letter from me and read it, her mouth moving slightly at one corner the way it did when she was concentrating. She was tan from laying by the pool and she wore a gold bracelet I hadn’t seen before and wondered if he gave it to her.

“This is a lot bigger than you made it sound,” she said.

“I didn’t want to make it sound like anything until I knew for sure.”

“They’re talking about a whole route. Promotion. Maybe another store or two eventually.”

“Maybe.”

“You’d need more inventory tracking. Better ordering. Someone to handle Madison when you’re not here. Brian can help, but he can’t be trusted with Fleetwood Mac.”

From the pop section, Brian called, “I heard that.”

“You were meant to,” she called back, laughing.

I took the letter from her, folded it once, then unfolded it again. “It would take a lot of money.”

“Most things do.”