And there it is. The reason Michelle’s romantic delusions are exactly that—delusions.
I straighten my back and meet his eyes, refusing to feel embarrassed about the chaos of my morning or any of the veryvalid reasons I look like I’ve been wrestling with literature. “Still measuring a life well-lived in quarterly profit margins?”
“Sentiment doesn’t pay invoices, Jessica.”
“And yet people keep coming here for it. Funny how that works.”
We’re standing on opposite sides of my staff-picks table, ten feet and a chasm apart. I should feel small, diminished by his expensive suit and corporate certainty and the way he looks like he’s never had a display rebel against him in his entire well-organized life.
Instead, I feel electric. Like arguing with him is its own kind of contact sport where we’re both too stubborn to admit we’ve been hit.
“I actually came by to discuss your lease renewal.” Scott pulls a folder from his leather briefcase—because of course he has a leather briefcase, probably Italian, definitely expensive enough to make my bank account weep. “We need to talk about some adjustments.”
My stomach drops. “What kind of adjustments?”
“The building’s property taxes have increased significantly. Operating costs are up across the board. And frankly, your current rent is substantially below market rate for this location.”
“How substantially?”
“Forty percent.”
The number hits me like a physical blow. “Forty percent? Scott, I can barely afford rent as it is. You want me to—” I stop. Steady myself against the counter like the solid wood might lend me some of its stability. “That’s not an adjustment. That’s an eviction with paperwork.”
“It’s a business decision.” His voice remains maddeningly calm, like he’s discussing quarterly earnings instead of my entire life’s work. “I’m giving you sixty days to decide. Agree to the newterms, or I’ll sell the building to someone who will pay market rates.”
“You can’t just?—”
“I can, actually. It’s in your lease agreement. Section twelve, paragraph four. Rent adjustments at landlord’s discretion with sixty days’ notice.”
I signed that lease when the bookstore was new and exciting, when it felt like a dream coming true instead of a ship taking on water. I signed it because I believed in happy endings and didn’t think to lawyer-proof my optimism.
“So that’s it?” My voice comes out rougher than intended, scraped raw by the unfairness of it all. “Forty percent increase, or I lose my shop?”
“Those are your options, yes.”
I look around at my bookstore. The sagging shelves I painted over three consecutive weekends. The reading nook where teenagers study for their SATs and elderly women discuss their book club picks. The local author section featuring Twin Waves residents who published their first novels. The community bulletin board covered in lost cat flyers and book club invitations and literacy program announcements.
My entire adult life in three thousand square feet of creaky floors and impossible dreams and rent I apparently can’t afford.
“You know what this place means to this town,” I say quietly. “It’s not just about books. It’s about?—”
“Community.” He says the word like it tastes bitter, like it’s a weakness rather than a strength. “I know. You’ve mentioned it. Repeatedly. But community impact doesn’t appear on balance sheets, Jessica. And they determine whether buildings get kept or sold.”
“Some things matter even when they don’t look efficient on paper.”
“Then they’ll matter to someone else after I sell.”
The words should be cruel. Are cruel, objectively. But his voice goes rough on the last part, and his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth when I talk about books with passion, and I’m suddenly, viscerally aware that we’ve drifted closer.
That we’re breathing the same air.
That he smells like expensive cologne—something woody and sophisticated—and I probably smell like old books and regret.
The pencil holding up my hair chooses this exact moment to surrender to gravity.
My hair tumbles down around my shoulders in a wave of auburn that immediately gets in my eyes and mouth and probably looks nothing like a romantic movie moment and everything like a woman who should invest in better hair accessories.
I try to grab the falling pencil and miss.
