One Saturday, I helped Karen carry boxes into her new store.
The lease had been signed, the walls painted, and the first shipment of books was due the following week.
She stood in the middle of the empty room, holding a clipboard.
“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
I put down a box.
“Why?”
“Because I’m about to spend my savings on shelves, books, lighting, furniture, and a coffee machine.”
“Sounds like a bookstore.”
She gave me a look.
“You are not helping.”
I walked toward her.
“Look around.”
She did.
Tall windows filled the room with afternoon light. The old hardwood floor had been restored. At the back, she had created a small reading corner with two comfortable chairs and a round table.
“You built this,” I said.
“We built the space.”
“No. I carried boxes. You built the dream.”
She looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
