I’m left standing in the breeze with an awkward feeling but a not altogether unpleasant view of his muscular back.
What did I do wrong?
“Thanks,” I say over my shoulder as I march away, my cheeks heating.
All I want is to go back to my shop and pull the curtains. But the shop doesn’t have any curtains. And besides, I actually do need the trimmings, or else this whole uncomfortable interaction was for nothing.
So instead, I pick up as many evergreen trimmings as I can carry. They smell amazing, but they’re also sticky and prickly enough that I wish I had thought to wear gloves.
I’m determined that I won’t be coming over here again, so I fill my arms high and scurry back down the sidewalk to my own shop, depositing them unceremoniously on the stoop before heading inside to seewhat in the world I’m going to use to hang the branches.
I’ve got a spool of red ribbon for wrapping presents, and not much else of use, so I carry it back outside along with a pair of scissors and do my best to make a garland I can wind around the spindles of the handrail. There are already hooks around the door, so it’s easier to hang another garland there.
At first, I’m nervous that my new neighbor might be watching and judging. But just a few minutes in, I’m relieved to realize that he’s studiously ignoring me.
When it’s done and I step back for a better look, I’m pleased that the place feels much cheerier than before, even if my decorations aren’t perfect. The greenery is lovely and the red ribbon sets it off nicely.
Now it’s time to clean, and as much as I normally hate cleaning, I’m honestly looking forward to working on the inside. Maybe once it’s neat and tidy it will be a bit more welcoming.
After doing my best to scrub the sap off my fingers, I head to the front of the shop. I’ll survey my kingdom from there, and decide where to start. Only before I get a chance to look over much, I notice that the faded carpet is pulling up in one corner.
I can’t resist grabbing the edge and tugging it back a little more.
“Oh, wow,” I murmur.
Under the ugly blue rug and its filthy padding is the prettiest, pumpkin-colored pine floor I’ve everseen. And at least in this corner it appears to be beautifully finished.
I tug up just a bit more and sure enough, I reveal even more gorgeous wood.
Stop, Taylor, I tell myself.You don’t want to pull up the carpet and padding. You don’t want to scrub the wood floors.
I can just do what I planned, vacuum, and dust, and clean, and minimize the risk that I’ll find anything else I have to spend money on. It’s not my building, and not my job to rip things out or try to make big improvements.
But my hands are already getting ahead of me, pulling the rug and padding back even more, and I already know what I’m going to do.
When I’ve rolled it back all the way to the first shelf, I realize that I need to have a strategy here.
Taking a step back to look things over, I try to figure out how I can move everything off the rug.
The answer is that I needed to do an inventory anyway. Maybe I’ll take all the books off the shelves and move the shelves to one side of the store so I can pull up one side of the rug. Then I can do it all on the other side.
It’s a big job, but I’ve got to start someplace.
So I put my hair up in a quick ponytail, roll up the sleeves of my sweater, and get to work.
It’slate afternoon by the time I’ve got all the shelves moved to the right side of the room with half of them leaning against each other, and enough of the exposed carpet pulled up to reveal half the wood floor on the left side.
Books are double stacked on a couple of the upright shelves and piled high on the checkout counter, the floor, and even the benches that flank the front door.
It wasn’t easy, and I have no idea where I’m going to get the strength to do the other half of the job when my muscles are already jelly and my stomach is roaring.
But the floor isgorgeous.
It has to be worth two days of work to expose it like this.
Except that I don’t really have two days to spare. I’ve got to get this place open again as soon as possible.
My belly lets out a sound like a wildcat. I jog upstairs for food, but there’s too much to do for me to stop for a real meal.
