Page 152 of Down Bad

And I can’t seem to say anything without apologizing first.

Am I sure I can even enforce the changes I’m making?

Why do I keep hearing imaginary laughter in my ears? Seeing eye rolls and indignant scoffing? Whispers at church … That Wyatt, he’s gotten so greedy, his head is so big, he thinks he can charge what he’s worth and get away with it at our expense? How dare he!

I clench shut my eyes, exhausted.

And it’s barely noon.

Cash comes crashing into the shop—Didn’t I lock the door?—flings his backpack behind the counter—Why does he always have a backpack? He’s not in school anymore—and says, “Hey, Mr. C! What’s poppin’?”

I come out of the back. “We seriously need to track your hours on these off days.”

He stops and blinks. “We track them on my on days?”

“Really, Cash. Whenever you help out, I need to pay you.”

“I told you it’s fine, Mr. C. Chill. I’m just—”

“No,” I say firmer. “None of these favors and freebies. I refuse to keep accepting it. When you’re here, you’re getting paid. That’s it. No negotiations.”

He lifts his eyebrows in surprise, looking almost hurt.

Then: “Even if I just stop by to, like, hang out?”

I lean in. “If you’re hanging out, then you aren’t allowed to do anything but hang out. Not even a teensy misting of the roses.”

“Aww, but that’s my favorite!”

“No.” I point at the computer. “Are you here to work? Or here to hang out? Clock in if you’re working, because I’ve got a whole list of to-dos while the shop’s closed. I’m making … changes. Big ol’ changes.” I rethink it. “M-Medium-sized changes. Sorta.”

He’s already looking at the screen. “You increased prices?”

“Some. For items I had already discounted. I ran numbers. I’ve been shorting myself. In a few ways, actually. By the way, are you feeling personable and particularly full of energy today? I could use some help with something.”

He peels his eyes from the screen and looks at me. “Uh …”

I pat the phone on the counter. “We need to make some calls.”

His eyes drop to the phone like he’s never seen one before.

This is going to go so well.

For the next few hours, we’re calling all of my clients. Every last one of them. I have a new pricing schema. I’m offering deals that benefit us both. We divide and conquer my call list one scary little conversation at a time—even if I’m mere inches from putting my finger on the panic button with every caller.

But they surprise me. “Oh, that doesn’t bother me at all,” says one lady. “And I’ll be sure to stop by tomorrow!”

Then another: “Well, I’ve been waiting for you to charge what you’re worth, son, so that’s that.”

And yet another: “As long as your cute face is still open for business, you can count on me and my girls from the book club!”

I hang up the phone after one particularly chipper call, squint at the counter in thought, then wonder if Mayor Nadine did seem a little friendlier than usual when she approached me after church service yesterday.

Is she responsible for this?

Why is everyone in town so … unusually friendly?

Cash and I take a break on the curb outside in the breeze, it being a surprisingly mild day. He made sandwiches at home with a plan to share one with me, which I found unexpectedly touching, coming from him. Then wondered if it was actually his mom Stella who had the thought, being an occasional flower connoisseur herself. It doesn’t matter either way; the sandwich goes down just as tastily and is just as much appreciated.