“You know,” he said casually, “people make a surprising amount of money off quality drop-shipped stuff these days in their own online stores.”
I frowned. “Stuff.”
“Stuff,” he repeated. “Mugs. Apparel. Niche things. Only works if it’s decent quality, though.”
I snorted. “That eliminates ninety percent of the market.”
“True,” he said. “But Lydia seems to be doing just fine.”
I blinked. “Lydia? She has an online store?”
“Oh yeah,” Ephram said. “She told me all about it when she was setting up her booth at the vendor market here. She has sleep masks, mugs, journals, candles. Everything branded, everything controlled by her. She calls it her ‘micro-empire.’ She occasionally tells her online community about a new product she sells and it’s money in her bank account.”
That did make me laugh. “She would.”
“She controls production of her online content, pricing, and has everything drop shipped so she doesn’t need to fulfill orders. This month Lydia is setting up a course for people to take if they want to do the same thing,” he went on. “No agents. No middlemen. She pushes it through her socials and pulls ad revenue on top of sales.”
I felt something shift, subtle but unmistakable. “She does all that herself.”
“Yep,” Ephram said. “And she never leaves town unless she wants to.”
The words landed harder than I expected. I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, staring at the shop like it might offer commentary.
I thought about online lessons. Guitar tutorials. Songwriting breakdowns. Teaching people who actually wanted to learn instead of performing for people who wanted to be entertained for three minutes and forget me the next.
I had never seriously considered it. Not because it wasn’t possible, but because it hadn’t fit the narrative I had been handed. Tour or disappear. Be loud or be nothing.
“That’s… an option,” I said slowly.
Ephram grinned. “Funny how that works.”
I exhaled, something tight in my chest loosening. “I wouldn’t have to tour.”
“Nope.”
“I wouldn’t need an agent.”
“Nope.”
“Do you think Lydia would talk to me about it? Give me some insight on how to get started?” I wondered.
“She would talk at youabout it,” he corrected with a fond smile. “But yes, since you and Kitty are together, I’m sure she wouldn’t even charge you for her advice or time.”
The bell chimed again, and Eva stepped inside, snow in her hair, expression distracted. Ephram straightened and checked his watch.
“I should go.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re on the right track.”
“Thanks,” I said. And I meant it.
After he left, Eva didn’t move toward the counter. She hovered near the door instead, hands tucked into her coat sleeves, eyes distant.
“What’s wrong?” I asked coming around the counter to approach her.
She hesitated. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
My stomach tightened. “That sentence never ends well.”
She sighed. “I saw Kitty earlier. Outside the arena.”
