Page 98 of The Overtime Persuasive

The city notices did eventually come down. The tables have been wiped clean, the chairs turned upright, and the boxes of subscription supplies that had temporarily invaded the space have been relocated. If someone walked in without knowing what happened, they might assume the café is merely closed for the day.

“So,” she says, drawing the word out. “What’s happening with the café?”

I follow her gaze. “I’m not sure.”

She turns back. “You’re not reopening it?”

“I didn’t say that.” I rest my hip against the counter. “I’ve been focused on the fines and the payment plan. Now that all of that is under control, I’m trying to decide whether reopening is actually what I want.”

Her eyebrows lift. “I thought the café was part of your whole vision for Side B. It was always busy. Why wouldn’t you bring it back?”

That is a good question, isn’t it?

For weeks, I’ve treated reopening the café as the finish line. Pay the city. Fix the paperwork. Return everything to precisely the way it was before my finances staged a coup.

Except Side B isn’t the way it was.

The subscription boxes are growing. I’m spending more time choosing books and records, making playlists, and building something that feels like mine—not something I added because every article about opening an independent record and bookstore insisted that customers, and hipsters, require espresso and exposed brick.

Somehow, along the way, I also managed to pick up help. Lucy, of course, but also an accountant who is across my books with me, making me feel more in control than I have in ages over the finances. I’ve got a new tenant, which is excellent.

And then there’s the hockey player who’s managed to sneak his way under my skin along the way too. He reminded me I can do anything I put my mind to, as long as I have a plan and keep it simple.

And all of that has led me to now. This moment, with Mrs. Green standing in front of me asking me the simplest of questions.

What did I want?

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Sometimes you think your life is going to go one way. And then life decides it’s time to drop a hockey player into the middle of your story, and suddenly you start thinking differently about things.” I lift both hands. “Maybe Side B doesn’t need the café. Maybe I don’t need to keep every part of the original plan just because it was the original plan.”

Mrs. Green stares at me. “A hockey player?”

I let my hands fall. Of all the words I just said, naturally those are the ones she catches. “Yeah.”

Behind her, the broadcast cuts to the Dominion warming up. Players in white jerseys stream onto the ice, and number twenty-two skates into view.

Even from across the country, even beneath a helmet and enough protective equipment to survive a small collision with a truck, I recognize the way Liam moves.

Mrs. Green follows my gaze to the television. Then she looks at me.

“Oh,” she says.

Heat climbs into my cheeks. “Yeah. That hockey player.”

Nodding, she watches me for a moment, then turns her attention to the café. “Question for you, Eva.”

I keep my eyes on the TV. “That sounds ominous.”

“If you decide not to reopen the café, what are you going to do with all that equipment?”

I turn to look. The espresso machine sits silent, all polished chrome and unused potential. Beside it is the grinder, the refrigerated pastry case, and the under-counter refrigerator. There’s also the commercial blender tucked away underneath, along with enough pitchers, tampers, and other coffee-making paraphernalia to outfit a small but highly caffeinated army.

The espresso machine cost me almost seven thousand dollars. The pastry case was more than two. Add in the grinder, refrigerator, blender, and everything else, and⁠—

Oh. All this time, I’ve been looking at the café and seeing something I failed to keep open.

It never occurred to me that I might be looking at money.

“Well,” I say slowly, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”