Chapter 17
ELLORA
Determined to keep living in my real world, the one with bills, cracked floor tiles, and wrinkled T-shirts, I started the day early.
I needed to make more money and I needed to do it fast. Since the early bird supposedly caught the worm, I figured it was worth a shot, so here I was, just barely after the crack of dawn, already on my way to work.
The Holden fantasy had been a lovely little detour from all this, like finding an oasis in the middle of a desert, but the mirage had faded.
The reality was that the trek I was on right now had me smack bang in the middle of the desert, dusty, thirsty, and painfully aware of how far I still had to go.
When he’d called me to his office after my last class, I’d almost cracked.
I’d almost told him the whole awful truth my mom, about how bad her condition was getting, and how terribly the store had been suffering recently.
I’d almost allowed myself to sink into him, to let him hold me, and to beg him to rescue me like some kind of pathetic damsel in distress.
In the end, I’d remembered that wasn’t me. I didn’t mind asking my friends for help, like when I’d admitted to Mercedes that I had no clue how I was going to choose a dress for the wedding. Help was fine. Smart to ask for when you needed it, even.
What I didn’t do was ask for handouts or to be saved. I didn’t want others to fight my battles for me. Win or lose, they were mine to fight. Mine to learn from and be guided by.
Walking into Josie’s bakery for my coffee, I inhaled the familiar scent of sugar and butter and kept trying to convince myself I’d done the right thing with Holden. Walking away had hurt but not as much as it would’ve in a week from now. A month.
As always, Josie was behind the counter, but instead of her usual cheerful wave, she didn’t even look over at me. Instead, she was talking in hushed tones with our landlord, Mr. Karabekian.
Something about their faces made my stomach drop. Josie was pale, her features drawn while Mr. Karabekian’s eyes were too wide, like he was in shock.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sound casual as I approached them. “You two look like you’re conspiring to take over the world this morning. Or maybe it’s more that you look like you tried to take over the world and failed.”
Josie glanced my way and gave me a small, sad smile, one that kind of felt like a warning. “Good morning, honey. It’s nothing quite as dramatic as world domination. We were just talking about some changes that are going to be happening around here.”
Mr. Karabekian cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Josie has decided to close the bakery, Ellora.”
My heart plummeted, my eyes stretching wide. I spun toward my friend. “What? Why?”
“Someone made an offer on my lease,” she said, wringing her flour-dusted hands as she grimaced. “I couldn’t afford to say no to that amount of money. I’m sorry, honey. I’ve been struggling for so long that I…”
Tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. I knew where she was coming from and I wouldn’t try to make her feel guilty about doing what was best for her. So I sucked it up and offered her a watery smile. “It’s okay, Josie. You don’t have to apologize.”
Mr. Karabekian cleared his throat again and avoided my gaze when I looked at him. “Ellora, they want to buy the building too. They’ve made an offer and it’s a good one. Too good to turn down.”
“Don’t sell,” I half-blurted, half-begged, panic sharpening my voice. “Please, Mr. Karabekian. This block is our community and it matters. You can’t just sell it off to some faceless corporation.”
He sighed, sorrow in his eyes when they finally met mine. “I understand, believe me, but I have to do what’s best for my family. These developers are throwing around a lot of money, offering well above market value.”
As I opened my mouth to argue, it occurred to me that there was nothing left to say. The decision was already made, so I forced a nod even though my chest felt tight. “Right. Of course. You have to do what’s best for your family.”
That was what this was all about, everyone jumping onboard with these offers because they felt like they had no other choice.
These last few years had been tough for us all and with these people—whoever they were—making offers people couldn’t refuse, of course, everyone had to consider what was best for their own families.
Mr. Karabekian gave me a tight smile, nodded at both Josie and me, and walked out, leaving me alone with her. She looked like she wanted to hug me but knew I’d crumble if she did. “Hey, you’ll land on your feet, sweetheart. You always do.”
I didn’t trust my voice enough to answer.
I just nodded again and walked upstairs to my shop.
The air felt heavier up here today, like the building itself was in mourning.
I looked around at the racks of vintage dresses, the half-restored furniture, and the carefully arranged displays that I’d built with my mother’s help.
If Josie’s bakery was as good as gone and the landlord had decided to sell, it was only a matter of time before they came for me too.
Slowly wandering around the space while it was still mine, I finally stopped in front of the display case that held the pieces of jewelry I’d restored over the years.
Each one had its own tragic backstory. They had been broken, abandoned, and unloved until I’d come along with my pliers and glue gun like some kind of jewelry fairy godmother.
I stared at my lineup of forgotten treasures like they were puppies in a shelter window, first looking at the cracked opal pendant I’d rescued from an estate sale bin that was now hanging proudly from a new chain.
There was a ring I’d made from three broken ones. A Frankenstein situation, but I’d made it into fashion. Next to that were earrings I’d made from two orphaned brooches that were ready for their second act as a mismatched duo.
These pieces were good. Maybe even great. But no one else seemed to agree. People came to the bakery downstairs for muffins, not metaphors about lost potential in the vintage thrift store upstairs.
“It’s a shame,” I muttered to nothing but the glass, like maybe it would feel bad and send someone to buy something.
When that didn’t happen, I unlocked the case, grabbed a few pieces I’d been meaning to finish, and tucked them into a velvet pouch. At least this was something I could tinker with when I got home. Something to keep my hands busy so my brain wouldn’t spiral into chaos.
For the next few hours, I mopped the floors and cleaned up the kitchen. I worked on polishing some of the wooden furniture and did some reading for class. As time went on, I kept glancing at the door, but the bell never jingled, not a single person coming in.
Eventually, I realized there was nothing here for me right now. No customers and no hope. I decided to head home. There was no use hanging around. If I was just going to be moping anyway, I might as well do it at home with my mom.
By the time I got there, the place smelled faintly of lavender and laundry detergent, which meant Bree had been here long enough to work miracles. I found her drinking a cup of tea in the kitchen and she frowned when she saw me. “Hey, girl. What are you doing home?”
“Planning,” I said vaguely, peering toward the hall when I didn’t see my mom anywhere. “Is she—”
“Napping,” Bree said. “We had a rough morning, but we’ve also made some progress.”
I frowned. “Progress?”
“We’ve been working on it for a few days.” She pointed at a small whiteboard resting against the kitchen wall. It held a list that read: “Today we: eat breakfast, fold towels, watch Jeopardy, rest.”
My throat did that annoying thing when it became so tight that I could barely breathe. “You made her a list?”
Bree smiled. “She likes checking things off. It gives her a sense of control. When she starts to spiral, I remind her what we’ve already done. It helps.”
“That’s genius,” I said once I’d swallowed past the lump in my throat and rediscovered my voice. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but I’m just doing my job. She’s a wonderful woman. She just needs a bit of reassurance about where she’s at in her day.” She looked up from her mug. “Are you home for the afternoon or are you going out again?”
“No, I’m home, so you’re welcome to leave if you need to go study. I’m going to be working on some things from here. I didn’t have to be at the store to get them done, so I figured I’d come hang out with Mom while I do it.”
“She’ll be happy to have you home.” Bree picked up her teacup and carried it to the sink. “What are you working on? Do you have an exam coming up or something?”
I shook my head, emptying the jewelry from my pouch onto the kitchen table. “I need to finish a few more of these.”
Afternoon sunlight caught on the gold and silver, throwing sparkles across the walls.
My tools were already in the drawer behind me, pliers, brushes, and a magnifying glass.
It was sort of like my own version of a surgeon’s tray.
If surgeons worked exclusively with rhinestones and existential dread, that is.
Bree washed her cup and then came over, already picking up her tote from the counter and slinging it across her shoulder. “Those are gorgeous. Did you make them?”
I started arranging the pieces. It was either that or start crying about my building being sold. “Most of them. I’m in the process of restoring some and making others out of broken pieces. It’s sort of like turning trash into slightly fancier trash.”
She laughed, her head shaking before she bent down to get a better look. “Your slightly fancier trash looks like really fancy, custom-designed pieces to me.”
“Thanks. I love them too, but at this point, I’m only working on them to give myself something to do.”
“Tough morning?”
“The worst.”
She grimaced. “I’m sorry. If I were you though, I wouldn’t only make these to give myself something to do. They could be selling like hotcakes.”
“That was my hope, but no such luck.”
Her head cocked. “Well, how are you marketing them?”
“They’re in a display cabinet in the store,” I said, then groaned. “Wow. That sounds so lame when I say it out loud. If you have any ideas about what else I can do, I’d be happy to hear them.”
She peered at the table again, reaching out and running the tip of her finger across the carving on a cameo. “Have you ever thought about selling them online?”
“I’ve tried. I have an online store somewhere in the digital void, but it’s basically a ghost town. I haven’t updated it in forever. Between the shop, classes, and my mom, time management hasn’t exactly been my superpower. I don’t even remember which pieces I put on there.”
“You should make time to update it,” Bree said gently. “People love stuff like this, especially if you tell the stories behind them. That’s what makes them special.”
“Online, huh?”
“That’s definitely the way to go for niche stuff like this,” she said. “Take some nice photos. Look at how other people do it. You don’t have to reinvent the wheel. Just steal their good ideas.”
“Steal their good ideas. Got it,” I muttered, smiling. “Maybe I’ll get a degree in Pinterest while I’m at it.”
She chuckled. “If they handed out degrees for Pinterest, I’d have a doctorate by now, but it couldn’t hurt to upload all of these and share them around social media a bit.
You never know what might happen. Have you asked your billionaire for advice?
He’s bound to know how to make money off of literally anything. ”
“I’m sure he does, but no, I haven’t asked.
” I let out a sigh and ran my fingers through my hair, desperately trying not to start obsessing about losing him again.
“I’m not his charity case. It was one date and that was it.
That was the deal. It didn’t come with consulting hours, investment tips, or emotional support.
It was just one night and it’s over now. ”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m positive. It will not go from fake date to how to sell broken jewelry consulting. He’s not my spirit animal for financial advice.”
Bree chuckled, gathered the rest of her things, and took off to go do some studying. After she left, I spent the rest of the afternoon elbow deep in beads, chains, and semi-precious stones, cleaning and photographing each piece like a miniature art exhibit.
Mom and I ate dinner in a kitchen that smelled like polish and desperation.
Then she helped me choose which pictures to upload.
I would have to stage the pieces that were back at the store properly tomorrow, but I had taken some pictures of those in the past, mostly to send to Mercedes to show her what I’d done. For now, I used those.
I updated the online store and uploaded some of the images to social media, hash-tagging and sharing the crap out of them. Mom chuckled and mused under her breath about the good old days when a marketplace had been an actual marketplace.
By the time I collapsed into bed, my limbs felt like overcooked spaghetti and my brain was full of sparkling little chaos monsters.
On the upside, I hadn’t spent the entire day obsessing about the imminent closure of my brick and mortar store or the man I was trying not to think about, so it still felt like a win.
I lay in the dark for a while, just trying to process how much my life was changing right now, but eventually, I reached for my phone to check the time.
God, it’s probably well past midnight. I froze. A notification blinked on the screen and my jaw dropped when I saw what it was.
One of my pieces had sold an hour ago. It wasn’t a huge profit or for a life-changing amount of money, but it was a sale.
A tiny victory.
I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and smiled into the dark. I could survive all this, provided I kept moving forward. Even if it was just by taking one tiny step at a time.