The last few days have been the kind of busy that leaves you a little tired, but a lot satisfied.
Tourists have been in and out of the store nonstop—summer weddings, last-minute engagement rings, couples standing too close together while I pretend not to notice and quietly steer them toward something they’ll both say yes to.
I’ve also had more meetings than usual. More custom requests. More people wanting something that feels likethem. And then there’s the workshops. Word has gotten around now, which still feels a little surreal.
This morning, my grandmother extended her trip—because that is how she rolls. Apparently, she and Larry are having “too good a time to come home early,” which I’m choosing not to unpack too deeply.
I smile just thinking about it, even as I shuffle through the notes spread across the counter in front of me.
Workshop ideas. Pricing. Structure. And somehow, I’ve created an entirely separate page that just says “New name?” at the top. Because a re-brand is beginning to feel like a logical next step.
I’ve been turning it over in my head for days now. The ideathat maybe the store doesn’t have to stay what it’s always been. That maybe I don’t have to hold on to something just because it feels like the right thing to do.
That maybe I get to choose something different.
I exhale, tapping the pen lightly against the paper. I’m even putting together a presentation—actual slides—because apparently, I’ve decided this is a conversation I’m going to have with my grandmother when she gets back.
Which feels bold. New. And a little terrifying.
My phone is tucked between my shoulder and ear as I jot down another note. It’s the second call I’ve fielded this morning about the bonding sessions and I’m here for it.
“So you’re saying you’d want something similar?” I ask, scanning the list. “Like a team workshop?”
“Exactly,” the voice on the other end says. “We heard about what you did with the girls—my neighbor’s cousin was there and loved it—and now our group is asking if you’d run something like that for us.”
A small, steady spark catches.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, already seeing it. “Yeah, I think we could do that.”
We wrap a few minutes later, and I hang up, staring at the papers spread across the counter.
Another group. And they were referred. My mouth curves. Okay. This might actually be something. I reach for my phone again, already half thinking I should text Ty to tell him, because he’d get why this feels like more than just another booking, when the door to the store opens and Lucy sweeps in like she owns the place, sunglasses perched on her head, energy ten steps ahead of the room as always.
She pauses just inside, scanning before her gaze lands on me. Then, without a word, she reaches behind her, flips the sign to CLOSED, and locks the door.
“Lucy?”
She turns back to me, leans against the door like she’s about to deliver life-altering news, and points a finger straight at me.
“You harlot.”
I stare at her. “What?”
She pushes off the door, striding toward the counter with purpose. “Don’t think I don’t know where you were.”
I blink again. “What are you talking about?”
She stops right in front of me, eyes narrowing in dramatic accusation. “How long did you think it would take for word to get around that a certain defenseman for the Dominion snuck his very beautiful woman friend into the arena during offseason the other day?”
I freeze, then I lift my chin. “I didn’t think boys were supposed to kiss and tell.”
Lucy scoffs. “It wasn’t Ty.”
I frown. “Then who?”
“Craig.”
“Who’s Craig?”
