Chapter 21
ELLORA
The next afternoon, I was in my shop, my sleeves rolled up and coffee cup number four cooling on the counter beside me. The front door was propped open to let in any folks from the neighborhood who’d gotten word of the meeting and my excitement—and my caffeine levels—were running high.
Every time I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, my heart skipped and my grin widened. Marguerite, Josie’s daughter, appeared next. She smiled excitedly when she saw me, holding up a small box she was carrying.
“Scented candles,” she explained. “Where do you want them?”
“Just right over there.” I pointed at the section I’d cleared for this project, the antique bookshelf and tables I’d moved over there not yet overflowing, but at least they were filling up. “Thanks for being here. We’ll get started in a minute.”
So far, a handful of locals had gathered, a mix of regulars and a few curious newcomers I’d tracked down through one of our neighborhood group chats. These were people who’d used those same chats to try to sell their wares. Today, I was hoping they would agree to let me help them—and myself.
Marguerite went to set her box down with the other handmade items that had been brought in.
Then she went to join the group huddled near the coffee station at the kitchen.
Mrs. Castillo from down the street had brought in a basket of crocheted baby blankets that looked like clouds spun from cotton candy.
She turned to greet Marguerite, waving her over to join the conversation she was in with Janelle, an art teacher, who had come in with hand-painted mugs. Old Mr. Park had brought a box of small birdhouses he’d built himself.
There were a couple more people too. After a night of barely sleeping, I was glad my call to arms—or more accurately, my call to crafts—was paying off.
In between planning and setting up the space, I’d been texting Holden all morning, bouncing ideas off him.
He’d been great, with quick replies, thoughtful comments, and little jokes that made me grin like an idiot every time my phone buzzed.
Holden: Maybe add a sign saying ‘Locally Made.’ It tells people why those items are special before they even ask.
That was his latest message, so I grabbed a chalkboard, wrote Made Right Here across it in my neatest handwriting, and hung it up over the display table. The others cheered like I’d just won an award when they noticed what I was up to.
Feeling a little giddy, I dipped into a bow and grinned. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Marguerite whistled and I laughed, the excitement positively contagious.
For the first time in a while, the shop didn’t feel like a sinking ship.
It felt alive. People were laughing, talking, swapping ideas about prices and materials.
I went to join them, but after a few more minutes of locals joining us, I finally called the meeting to order.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” I started after climbing onto a chair in the corner.
Looking out over almost a dozen people gathered now, I tried not to let tears of joy start flowing down my cheeks, clasping my hands in front of me instead.
“Thank you all so, so much for being here. Especially on such short notice.”
I dragged in a deep breath, meeting their eyes pair by pair as I spoke. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Ellora Kinney and Second Story belongs to me, but you’re here because I’m hoping each of you wants to become part of this story.”
They all watched me intently.
“I’m sure most of you have heard that there’s been a lot of movement on our block recently, and truth be told, this store probably isn’t going to be unaffected, but for now, while I’m still here, I’d like to use this space to give all of you the opportunity to showcase your goods.”
A smattering of applause broke out.
I smiled. “If you have any friends or neighbors who might like to make use of this opportunity themselves, please tell them that they’re welcome. This is open to everybody local who has a talent and would like to make a bit of extra money with it.”
Mrs. Castillo pulled out her phone and started texting immediately, her fingers surprisingly fast and nimble for her age.
I waited until she’d stuck it back in her pocket before I went on.
“What I’m hoping is that together, we can turn this into a one-stop shop for affordable, quality, local products.
I’ll be putting the word out on social media today and I’m looking into other options to market it. ”
“How about an actual market?” Marguerite suggested. “I can also help you design some flyers if you’d like.”
“That would be great.” I hopped off the chair and grabbed my notebook. “What have you got in mind for a market?”
Our meeting lasted about another twenty minutes before everyone started setting up their items on the display. The creativity in this room at the moment was astounding, with everyone helping each other to arrange their wares in the best possible way.
As they jumped in, I stood back and watched. The shelves were fuller than they’d been in months. Sunlight shining in through the windows hit the polished glass cases just right, giving the entire store a bit of a mid-afternoon sparkle.
All we needed now were customers to take some of this stock off our hands. With that thought in mind, I pulled my phone out to take some pictures of the progress when it buzzed again.
Holden: How’s it going over there? Meeting a success?
Once again grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush, I snapped a picture and sent it to him.
Me: Better than I hoped. You might actually be good at this business thing. Who knew?
His reply came almost instantly.
Holden: Eh, I dabble.
I smiled so wide, my cheeks hurt.
Me: Thanks for all your help! I’ll send more pics when it’s done, but it’s already looking good.
As I navigated out of my messages, I exhaled deeply and did my best to put Holden out of my head for now. He’d been an absolute godsend, not only for all the help he’d been giving me today, but also for encouraging me to pursue this in the first place.
It was yet another idea that had been floating through my mind for ages, but I’d been so focused on everything else that I wasn’t sure I would ever have put it into motion if not for that chat with him. That very naked, very intimate chat. In his freaking bed.
My cheeks flushed at just the memory of it all, but honestly, with him, I didn’t want to help myself. I could. My body wasn’t betraying me or anything. I just didn’t want to resist him.
I wanted him. In my life. In my bed. Evidently, even in my business. I just didn’t know how to do it in a way that would be fair to him. Hot Mess couldn’t exactly be a tempting label in a woman to someone like him.
While I tried and failed to stop thinking about him, I snapped some more pictures of the progress, posing for selfies with some of the others holding their items. We also took individual pictures of everyone with their part of the display and staged some of the products for close-up photographs.
With some social media fodder in my gallery, I finally went to collect my clipboard.
The process of inventorying and pricing all these new items was painstakingly slow, but while I busied myself making sure no one would lose money or stock, Marguerite started scheduling posts and creating a bit of buzz in our community online.
Mrs. Castillo made everyone coffee and Mr. Park was complaining to everyone who would listen about the cost of bird seed. For the first time in ages, however, as I watched them all interact, I had hope again.
Our community was strong and tightly knit. We truly cared about each other and maybe that would be enough to ensure that we didn’t collapse under pressure from this developer, whoever they were. Maybe they would give us the opportunity to stay on no matter how many people sold.
The afternoon flew by in a blur of caffeine, carefully controlled chaos in the store, and a lot of laughter. Once the others went home, I continued pricing, making sure every last item had a tag on it, not only saying how much it cost, but who it belonged to.
Eventually, I kicked off my shoes and did some of my own admin.
I shared the posts on social media and finally sent Holden a dozen pictures of the shop’s new section.
The shelves were now filled with local crafts and I included the sign that said Made Right Here, as well as the smiling faces of everyone who’d stopped by.
Me: Look what we pulled off today.
Me: Also, we’re starting something new. Second Story Sunday. It’ll be like a tiny neighborhood market right outside the shop. Everyone sets up tables, sells their stuff, makes a little money. I figured it’d bring in more foot traffic.
I hit send and set the phone down, trying not to obsess over when he’d reply. A minute later, it buzzed.
Holden: Second Story Sunday?
Me: Thought it had a nice ring to it.
Holden: It’s genius. That’ll get the whole area talking about you. I’m seriously impressed.
I smiled so hard, my cheeks hurt again. I’d spent most of the day running on caffeine and adrenaline, but reading that made me feel like I’d just downed an espresso shot straight into my soul.
Holden: You heading home?
Me: Yeah. I’m starving, though. Might grab something on the way.
Holden: Let me buy you dinner.
My heart did a stupid little flip.
Me: There’s a taco truck not far from my apartment building. Meet me there if you want the best food in the city.
Holden: Taco truck? I’m in. Text me the address.
I sent it, feeling a spark of nervous excitement flutter to life.
Tacos, not white tablecloths. Paper napkins, not linen.
This was my world and I couldn’t wait to see what Holden looked like standing in the glow of a food truck in an expensive suit and wearing that easy smile.
The billionaire and the broke girl, meeting in the middle of a city street with grease on their fingers and hot sauce on their lips.
In my head, it sounded like the beginning of a joke, but in my heart, I was hoping that it was the beginning of a story. A story I couldn’t really afford to be starting right now, and yet, somehow, I didn’t want to stop trying to write it.