This is really fucking happening.
I squeal, clapping like an idiot as Carter pulls up to the curb. He’s already climbing out before I can even fumble with the door handle. He opens it for me, offering his hand.
My bedazzled boots hit the pavement as I hop down from the truck, taking in the weathered brick. Ivy curls up the side, and that faded wooden sign with the hand-painted letters: Bell’s Books.
I turn to him just as he starts patting down his pockets as if he’s misplaced something important. He mumbles under his breath, then straightens up and holds out a small silver key dangling from a plain little ring.
“Here,” he remarks nonchalantly. “Congratulations, darlin’.”
I look up at him, grabbing the keys from his fingertips. “How do you–”
He cuts me off, putting his finger to my lips, gently brushing them. “Don’t worry about it, baby.”
I should push, demand to know how the fuck he got the keys. But the soft look in his blue eyes silences every question before it even forms.
Whatever, I turn on my heel and bolt towards the door. My fingers tremble as I fit the key into the lock. There’s a loud click, and just like that, I walk into an empty storefront that I get to call mine.
The tears come fast, but I let them. Because this is real. Inside, it’s nothing. Just blank, sunlit walls, exposed beams, scuffed floors, and that golden spill of light that pours through the big bay windows.
I let out a cough, pulling out my phone from my back pocket, my hands are shaking as I call my girls, and it barely rings before they pick up.
“I GOT THE KEYS, BITCHES!!!” I scream into the speaker, nearly dropping the phone.
Shrieking erupts on the other end.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!”
“NO FUCKING WAY, OH MY GOD!”
“CATALINA, BABE, YOU DID IT!”
“OUR PRINCESS HAS A BUSINESS!!”
“WE NEED TO COME OUT AND CELEBRATEEEE!!!”
Their voices collide with each other. Loud, chaotic, and full of love. For a moment, their joy becomes my own. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
“I’m standing inside the space right now,” I breathe into the phone, spinning slowly in place. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”
“But you’re doing it,” Amelia says, firm and gentle like always. “That’s all that matters, babe.”
“I’m so freaking proud of you!” Layla squeals, her voice practically bouncing through the line.
We talk a little longer—about ideas, paint colors, silly names for the matcha bar I want to build in the back. Eventually, I hang up, letting the stillness return. I’m alone again in the middle of this raw, echoing room.
Just me. And the weight of what I’ve done, what I’ve earned.
I turn in slow circles, my eyes tracing over the blank canvas around me. That wall will support rows of shelves. Over there, I’ll create a cozy reading nook with overstuffed chairs and fuzzy throws. Fairy lights and maybe some wild ivy hanging from the ceiling.
My fingers curl around my biceps as I hug myself tight, grounding the moment before it floats away. I let out a shaky breath as I close my eyes.
“Hola, Mamí.” I tilt my head back, blinking hard at the ceiling. My throat closes, but I force the rest out, even if it breaks me open. “It’s me again. I wanted to show you something.”
My voice trembles as I open my eyes and look around, seeing not what it is, but what it will be.
“There’s nothing here yet, I know that. But, it’s mine,” I whisper. “This place? It’s going to be mine. And not because someone gave it to me with strings attached, definitely not because I earned it through someone else’s name. Because I chose it, because I worked hard for it.”
My throat thickens as my fingers tremble against my sweater. A small tear escapes, running down my cheek.
