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.
Then she set down the clipboard.
“Can I tell you something without you trying to make it sensible?”
“Probably not, but go ahead.”
She smiled nervously.
