“Oh.”
Mr. Edwards sat back in his chair and looked at me.
“Did something happen?”
I shook my head.
“No. It’s just. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so perfect for this job.”
“I’m not, though,” I said. I felt myself tearing up and fought it. “I get all the tastings wrong. I get overwhelmed with stocking and inventory and everything. I just... I love tea. But I don’t think I want to sell it.” I tried to keep going, but my throat had pinched shut.
Mr. Edwards let out this chuckle.
It wasn’t a mean one.
It was more like he was remembering something.
“You know I play guitar?”
I nodded. Landon had shown me his dad’s guitar collection.
“I’m pretty good at it, you know. I always hoped Landon would pick it up, but he liked bassoon better.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway. I was in a band for a while. The Second Steepings.”
I giggled at that.
“Hey, give me a break. We were pretty good. We put out an album. Did shows. Made some money. But you know what?”
“What?”
“After a while it stopped making me happy. I loved playing guitar, but I didn’t love being in a band.” He leaned forward and patted my knee. “It’s okay to keep something you love just for you.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
“Really. It’s okay.”
And I got this feeling. Like I could breathe again.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. I’m sure going to miss you, though.”
“I’ll still come in and get my tea here. I love this place.”
Mr. Edwards beamed.
He had his son’s smile.
“I’m really glad. I wanted this store to be a place for people who love tea.” And then his smile faltered a little bit. “Do you want to tell Landon or should I?”
I chewed my lip. “I will.”
“Was it something I did?” Landon asked.
