It’s like everything in me clicks into alignment—every restless thought, every aching question about what I want to do next, who I am now. The answer is right here.
Under it all, muffled by the excitement, is a fear that I might not do well. My fingers aren’t what they used to be so I might not be able to show the kids what they need. But even that isn’t enough to stop me anymore.
I can find a way.
“Yes,” I say with a laugh. “Very. I’m… yeah, I’m very interested!”
“Wonderful.” He goes up on his toes, delighted. “Let’s talk then.”
When I leave the shop a half hour later, my hands ache from the weight of the books, but my steps are lighter somehow. There’s a bounce to them I haven’t felt in years. Who knew I’d ever have a bounce to my step again?
I almost call Fletcher, but no. I want to see his face when I tell him. Want to feel the moment land between us. He’s going to be just as excited for me.
I tuck the phone away and walk back to the bar, grinning like an idiot the whole way.
Inside, I wave River over. “Watch the door for a minute? I need to talk to Declan.”
“Sure.”
I head down the hall, toward the office. Declan is hunched over paperwork with a pinched line between his brow.
I knock quietly on the open door. “Hey, boss. Got a minute?”
“For you? Always. Come in.”
I shut the door and sit across from him, rolling my shoulders to brace myself. I’ve been dreading this conversation ever since I first brought it up with Fletcher. I’ve had multiple chances to talk to Declan, yet for whatever reason, I held back—like I was waiting to see what my next step was.
Now I see it and I’m ready.
But that doesn’t make this conversation any easier. My belly is in knots. Not in a bad way—just an ache that I’m going to let him down.
“So, I’ll get right to it since you’re busy. I need to cut back on my hours.”
Declan’s expression shifts instantly—not disappointed, not annoyed. Just concerned.
“It’s just… too much,” I say. “I’m hurting more than I should be.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you slowing down. The barstool helped, but it isn’t enough, is it?” Declan’s tone is warm, soothing even. He’s telling me he really sees me.
“No.” I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “I don’t want to leave, though. That’s not what this is. I just—”
“Vince,” he interrupts gently. “It’s okay.” He slides some papers to the side and leans in, eyes fixed on me. His red hair seems darker in here. “I’ve seen this coming for a while. But I told you I’d have your back, and I meant it. So if you need to cut back, it’s fine. No bad feelings.” He sits back, running a hand over his short beard. “But Iamrelieved to hear you don’t want to leave because I’ve been thinking about offering you a management position. Office work, I mean. Scheduling, inventory, payroll, all the behind-the-scenes shit I never seem to get away from.”
I stare at him. “You’d trust me with that?”
He snorts. “You kidding? You already do a good portion of it. And you know this place inside and out.” His eyes soften. “I know I can trust you with the books.”
Something in my chest loosens. Declan trusts me. Deep down. That means everything.
“Actually, this offer isn’t only about you. I’ve been wanting to be more hands-on out front too,” he continues, “so I’ve been considering finding someone for the position for a while.”
I struggle to find my voice, still overwhelmed. “Well, I’m definitely interested. There’s just one problem, though.”
“Oh?” He arches a brow.
I rub my hands on my pants. “I just accepted a job at the music studio down the street. I’m going to teach guitar.”
His face lights up. “No shit?”
