Page 4 of The Overtime Persuasive

“Welcome to Side B,” I call out, ignoring her comment. A man pauses just inside the doorway and looks around as if he wants to take in everything at once: the long wall of records, the shelves of books in the next room, the strands of tiny golden leaves I hung around the windows yesterday.

Outside, Alexandria is washed in late-September sunlight. A few newly fallen leaves skip along the brick sidewalk behind him, catching in the breeze before the door swings shut.

He moves toward the records while I glance at the half-packed subscription boxes taking over one end of the counter. I started making them a couple months or so ago on a whim, after seeing a call for entries for a national gift guide contest. The winner gets featured on a morning show—the kind of exposure that could change everything for a small business like mine. Somehow, that turned into me pairing a book with a record and a candle, picking a theme for it, and then packaging the whole thing as a little piece of Side B that can be delivered to your door—and then never actually entering.

Why?

Because that part is a pipe dream. One that still makes me laugh whenever I think about it. Except for one tiny fact that is kinda amazing: the boxes keep selling.

And because Side B, and the building I’m currently standing in, is the first thing in my life that has ever been completely mine, every order feels bigger than the dollar amount attached to it.

Lucy clears her throat and sniffs the air. “Please tell me the coffee is fresh.”

I nod, tipping my head toward the café in the very back, a last-minute addition during the renovations, but one I’m glad I made. “Brewed it fresh right before you came in.”

Her gaze travels over my shoulder toward the café, where Mrs. Green is now pushing two tables apart while continuing to insist she no longer requires an additional one. “What is she doing back there?”

“Rearranging. Again.”

Lucy sighs. “I think that’s what I’ll be like when I’m in my eighties. A woman without a care in the world, except book club.”

“Don’t let her hear you say she’s in her eighties.” I chuckle. “She’s only sixty-five.”

“Yikes.” Lucy makes a face and starts toward the café, because she can get her own coffee—she’s here that much. “I don’t know how you manage all of this without part-time help yet.”

I look around my little store with golden September sunlight stretching across the hardwood floor. Side B is busy, and yes, I’m behind on everything. While I’m loving every second of it, I’d be a liar if I didn’t say that hiring someone as soon as I can wasn’t at the top of my to-do list. It is.

“I’m hanging in there,” I tell her. “Possibly one minor inconvenience away from hiding in the stockroom and having a breakdown, but all in all, I’m good.”

“Do you start advertising for help this week?”

I nod. “That’s the plan. I’ve put enough aside to feel like we have a financial pillow to take care of the new hire. It’s a tricky balancing act until the holidays, but as long as nothing goes wrong, I’m in a good place.” I cross my arms and look around the shop. “Yeah. Things aren’t just good, they are great.”

“That sounds healthy.” Lucy grins before disappearing from view.

“Therapy works wonders,” I call to her back before turning my attention to the man who entered the shop and is currently wandering around the Broadway album section. I light the pumpkin spice candle on the counter, the first curl of fragrance slipping into the air as I straighten the two small ceramic pumpkins beside it, tucking a few stray leaves back into the autumn garland draped around the register. There. Warm, cozy, and only one cinnamon-scented broom away from becoming a seasonal signal that I’m obsessed with this time of year.

“He’s cute.” Lucy appears at the counter, holding her cup of coffee, but her attention is fixed over my shoulder. “Are you going to flirt with him, I mean, ask if he needs help?”

“Lucy, stop.” I bite down on my lower lip. “He’s a customer. I opened the store to make money, not to use it for dating.”

“Well, are you at least going to talk to him?”

I try to hold on to my offended expression. I really do, but I’m cracking. “You’re hilarious.”

She knows I won’t but, as my best friend, she’s got to ask or at least attempt to push me out of my comfort zone. Lucy knows I haven’t been on a date in over two years. At this point, it might be good for me to get back out there before I forget how dating works entirely and start introducing myself by handing men a list of all the TV shows I’ve binge-watched with my cat on a Friday night over takeout. It’s a long list.

It isn’t that I’ve sworn off men. It’s not about having a bad relationship, or being mad about anything. I’ve simply been busy.

The last two years have been about taking care of myself. About figuring out what I wanted to do, opening Side B, and pouring everything I have into making it work. About figuring out what I want my life to look like in five years, or even ten, when I’m the one making the decisions.

I haven’t been waiting for someone to come along. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it when someone interesting finally does. I just don’t think that someone is this guy in a crisp suit who has walked into the shop on a busy Wednesday morning.

Still, I push my hair back over my shoulders and stand a little taller. “Wish me luck, he may want to buy an album and a book.”

Lucy nods. “That’s the spirit.”

The man has moved closer to the archway between the books and records. He’s studying the shelves again, one hand tucked into the pocket of his suit pants. The closer I get, the more certain I am that the suit probably cost more than the sum total of most clothes I own.