“Hi, honey,” Dad says, his voice a little distant.
She’s fetched the cavalry. I set my phone on my desk, hit the speakerphone, and press my fingers to my eyes. “My book royalties are floating the store. If I give Natalie the raise she deserves for all the work she’s doing to drive more business, it’ll probably end up balancing out the additional revenue to a degree. I’m not sure I have a viable business.”
“What do you mean your royalties are floating the store?” Dad asks.
My cheeks flush. “I might have been using them to supplement my employees’ paychecks.”
“Oh, Piper,” Mom says. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I wanted this to be a success. I’ve worked so hard to make this store exactly what I want it to be.”
“How’s your writing going? I haven’t even seen a preorder recently.”
“It’s…taking a back seat. I’m halfway through my next novel. But I can’t put up a preorder until it’s finished. Things are slower now that I have the store.”
“Your attention is split,” Dad says.
Mom hums. “Which one is your dream?”
“I have more than one dream?” I say, but I ask it like it’s a question. Is that allowed? Am I allowed to dream so big? To want to be an author, a bookstore owner, a wife, a mom, a friend, a daughter, a reader?
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mom says firmly. “But you need to find a way to make the store a viable business on its own. That’s important, or you’ll run yourself ragged.”
Dad mutters something under his breath, then speaks to me. “Should we come help out? I can take a few shifts.”
“I’m not ruining your retirement with work.”
“I’d enjoy it.”
My chest swells with love. “I shouldn’t take work away from my employees, either.”
“That’s fair, honey.” Dad makes a thinking sound. “I know you have your own accountant, but do you want me to take a look at your books?”
He could, and he might find something, but he doesn’t need to. I employ an accountant, like he just said. Dad doesn’t need to waste his time looking at my books when I already pay someone else to do it.
“Thanks, but for now I’m good.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. Immediately, I feel like I said the wrong thing, but I don’t know how to turn it around.
“We’re always here for you,” Mom says carefully.
“I know. Thanks.”
“Now, tell me about this boy,” she says. Changing the subject must be her way of breaking the tension. “Last I heard, he was tugging your pigtails on the playground.”
“Weird analogy.”
“I always wondered if there was more to it than we knew,” she says smugly. “No one could justnot like you.”
“Says my mother.”
“I’m right, aren’t I? You think I’m an old lady, but I know I walked in on something the other night.”
She definitely walked in on something. If she hadn’t interrupted, I’m almost positive he would have kissed me, or I would have kissed him. And the four days since that moment have dragged by, each minute a slow trudge in my eager anticipation of our date. “He might be taking me out tonight.”
“Your first real date!”
“WithDorian, yes. I’ve dated other guys.”
