Page 104 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

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“Welcome,” Sula says, marching across the lineup of employees like a general about to lead us into battle, “to the Edgy Envelope’s busiest retail day.”

Bea bites her lip.

I can’t look at her or I’ll break out in a grin, and this does not seem like a grinning moment.

“What you’re about to face,” Sula says, the gravity of her delivery somewhat undercut by the pink hearts bouncing like antennae from her red headband, “is people at their most desperate. They want to stock up on the perfect cards, snag the ideal necklace, the best box of chocolates, the prettiest flowers”—she gestures toward the stand of bouquets my mom started assembling from her greenhouse and selling to Sula last year—“because we’re going to charge them only sixty percent of what we normally do, and sales turn people into jungle animals. In short, they need your help both finding everything they want and remembering their higher angels. We cannot fail them.”

“No pressure,” Bea mutters.

I bite my cheek so I won’t laugh.

“Are you ready?” Sula asks.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Bea says, saluting her. “But, quick question—where’s Toni?”

“Bathroom,” Sula says. “He’ll be out any minute, I’m sure—holyshit.” Sula stares past us, her expression stricken.

Bea and I turn around and see exactly why Sula looks so upset. Toni stands just outside the bathroom. He looks terrible. He’s clutching his stomach, his complexion paper white. Actually, it’s a little green, too.

“I think…” he croaks, “that I’m sick.”

We all take an immediate step back.

Sula sighs. “You just spent twenty minutes in the bathroom and came out looking like a corpse, of course you’re sick.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers miserably.

“Honey,” Sula says, “you have nothing to apologize for. You’re sick. It happens.”

“I sent out an SOS to all the strapping guys I know,” he says, “so hopefully someone can come in and help you with moving inventory as you run out.”

We all give him a look.

“What?” he says defensively, standing taller. “I’m strapping.”

“I weigh two of you,” Sula says flatly.

“So I’m a wiry strapping,” Toni says. “I’m still the muscles of this operation.”

Sula rolls her eyes. “Of course you are, hon. Thank you for putting out an SOS. Now go home and get some rest.”

Toni looks like he’s going to cry. He opens his arms and walks toward Sula.

“I love you, Antoni,” Sula says, taking another step back, “but for the love of God, keep your pestilence to yourself. Off you go.”

Toni smiles faintly. “Okay, I will. I’m just gonna grab my bag—” His hand flies to his mouth. “Never mind, I’ll be in the bathroom.”

“Oof,” Bea mutters, turning toward me. “Poor Toni. Poor us. This is going to be rough.”

She’s right. For the next two hours, it is pretty rough. We’reslammed with patrons, Sula working the floor, Bea and I running the registers, Bea dropping off her register when we start to run low on cards, jewelry, and chocolate, then quickly restocking them.

When it seems like we might have a lull for the first time since we opened, I make my way to the storage closet. It’s dark and cozy in there, cool and quiet. I just need a minute to myself.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door of the storage closet. “Yes?” I ask.

Bea eases open the door, and Kate steps in behind her. “Hey, JuJu,” Bea says.

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