I paid the bills because it had to be done. Utilities, rent, the overdue insurance. A repair invoice that made my jaw tighten, even though I had expected it. I clicked submit in the online banking portal, watched each confirmation flash on the screen, and told myself that this was good, I was still doing okay, and I would turn it around somehow.
When I reached the end of the list, one invoice remained. It was the supplier invoice, which didn’t threaten to turn off the lights, but did threaten to make the shop quietly useless over time if I couldn’t get it paid. I needed the small pieces that repaired customer’s instruments as part of my service.
I opened my checking account again and ran through the numbers a second time. The total did not magically change because I stared at it harder.
I could pay it, if I dipped into what I kept tucked away in savings for emergencies. The problem was that everything had started to feel like an emergency. If I used that small amount of money now, I wouldn’t have it when something worse happened.
So I did what I hated doing. I wrote a note to call the supplier, slid the invoice into a folder marked NEXT MONTH, and closed the laptop.
My phone buzzed with a notification. I thought I had switched those off. I looked at the screen to find a cheerful caption full of holiday emojis and a comment thread that looked like a swarm.
I should have ignored it but I saw Kitty’s face in frame, her posture uncomfortably tight which told me she hadn’t chosen to be in the video. I watched her correct the interviewer, calm and clear, refusing to be pulled into speculation about me or our relationship.
She did not soften her boundaries to make the strangers watching comfortable. She protected my privacy in public.
My chest tightened with a mix of gratitude and something else I wasn’t ready to name just yet. Fake dating was supposed to make some of the fans back up a bit, to give me room and instead people were hounding Kitty, asking for her attention and time.
I had done this to her and she didn’t look happy.
I set my phone down and rubbed my hand over my face. I should call her and apologize. To release her from fake dating me if that was what she wanted.
Yet I realized I didn’t want to fake date her. I wanted to date her for real. I liked Kitty, her generosity with Abby, the way she smiled, how she understood me and wasn’t about to fangeek over me.
The bell over the door chimed. I glanced up, hoping for a customer.
My former agent Dave walked in like he owned the place. He carried a cardboard box under one arm and a tablet in the other hand.
“Morning,” he said, as if we had chatted yesterday and not months ago. “You look busy.”
“The shop is open,” I dryly replied, even though there wasn’t a customer in sight.
He laughed lightly. “That’s what I like about you. Always grinding.”
Dave set the box on the counter and opened it with a flourish that suggested this was a gift. “I give you an opportunity.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted his opportunities.
Dave took out item after item, each worse than the last. A bobblehead with a head that didn’t bobble. It sat rigidly on the body like someone had glued it down and hoped no one would notice. A stack of t-shirts. I picked one up with two fingers and immediately saw the print cracking at the edges. There was a white cheap looking mug with a logo I recognized from my old tour days. Under it, my name was spelled wrong.
Dave watched my face the way a person watched a judge at a contest. “They’re mockups, but you get it. We could have Caleb Green branded merchandise to sell these online. It creates passive income. All you need to do is be on a few video ads. You could move a few thousand units without leaving this town.”
I set the mug down carefully. “My name is spelled wrong.”
“That’s an easy fix,” he said, waving it off. “The point is the concept.”
“The concept is cheap looking,” I replied.
Dave blinked, then smiled again, determined. “We are not selling luxury. We are selling connections to you. You drank out of the mug and now fans get to drink out of it.”
I did not like the way he said that, as if I could be portioned out and shipped.
“No,” I said.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if I had just said something naive. “Caleb, the interview clip is already circulating about your girlfriend. People are curious again. You have a moment to take advantage of this. We could even get a picture with the two of you together on hoodies.”
Dave tapped his tablet and turned it toward me. A playlist of different song titles appeared on the screen.
“You don’t have to do a full tour,” he said, his tone shifting to patient persuasion. “Just a few holiday sets. A handful of appearances. You can be home by New Year’s.”
