I take the flowers back into my apartment and put them in water before I go to work, but now I am regretting having done so. The flowers are beautiful and fragrant, but flowers and a brief note are not sufficient to make up for standing me up on our first date. Maybe I should have just thrown them out. Standing behind the counter at Anchor, I shrug to myself. No use wasting flowers.

There is a lull before people get off of work and I take my break. I make myself a latte and grab a scone from the pastry display. I know I should probably not be having a breakfast pastry as a mid-day snack, but I feel like my whole body clock is off. Odd, I can justify eating junk food because I got drunk and slept in late. Maybe I should have gone to law school.

Sitting at one of the empty tables, I flick through pictures on Instagram, trying to zone out. Even joking to myself about law school brings the issue of my student loans up to the front of my head. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do. For a while, I was sure that I would just put the money I got toward my debt and continue on with my life. That way, I could just forget about the whole thing and have a more manageable amount to pay off.

But as I thought more about it, the less attractive that option became. Did I really want to keep working at Anchor, making people coffee for the rest of my life? I needed to pay my loans off, to be sure, but maybe there was some way I could use the money to put myself in a position to make more. I had always heard ‘it takes money to make money.’ Well, now I have some money, shouldn’t I try to make more from it?

The problem was, I had no idea how. If I knew how to make money, I wouldn’t be working at Anchor. If I had been serious about making money, I probably wouldn’t have majored in Classics and then not gone to grad school. I wasn’t even really qualified to teach. There aren’t a lot of schools with a Latin program. This cash had fallen into my lap, as it were. I can make payments on my loans for years, and an opportunity like this might never come again. Or at least, I wasn’t planning on it coming again.

No, I have to make this count. Seventy thousand isn’t nearly enough to buy an investment property, and I don’t have the credit to qualify for a mortgage on anything more expensive. Buying stocks seems like too much of a gamble. It isn’t like I know anything about businesses. I might as well bet on sports. Although, I had won a March Madness pool by picking the winners based on their mascots, so maybe that was an option.

My break is ticking by and I am no closer to a solution. I sweep my eyes across the patrons scattered around the room, hunched over their laptops. Then it hits me. The solution has been in front of me every day for years. The regulars who spend hours a day at Anchor are making money with something and it clearly doesn’t require them to go anywhere in particular. All it takes is a laptop. Maybe I could just do whatever they are doing. Surely having a chunk of cash would go a long way to getting an online business started. I don’t know very much about building websites or coding, but now I can pay people who do. I decide to go talk to one of them and find out what they do. But before I work up the courage to start talking to one of them, my break is up and a few newcomers trickle in the front door. Back to making coffee.

I feel a vibration in my pocket. A text. When there is a break in the growing stream of afternoon customers, I check the message. It is from Blake.

Hope you liked the flowers. Are you free tonight?

I harrumph so loudly that one of the regulars sitting near the counter looks up from her laptop with an arched eyebrow. I smile politely at her and she turns back to her work.

I can’t believe he would just write that. No explanation, no apology. He thinks because he bought me one night that I am his forever? That I will just be available whenever he wants? That wasn’t the deal and I am damn sure not going to give him another chance to stand me up. If he wanted to see me, if he wanted to be with me, he would at least have let me know he wasn’t coming last night. I put the phone back in my pocket without responding and greet the next customer.

Another hour goes by and the pace of work drops again. Some of the regulars have already left, but the woman sitting near the counter is still there. She has been sitting with the same cup of slow pour coffee for the past hour and a half. I walk around the counter, more nervous than I would have expected.

“Hi, um, do you need a refill or anything?”

She looks up from her screen and tilts her head.

“No, I’m ok. Thanks.”

She turns back to her work.

“I’ve seen you in here a lot. What are you working on? If you don’t mind me asking.” I rush that last part out. I don’t know why this is making me so anxious. I’m never awkward talking to people, especially customers at Anchor. I’ve gossiped and chatted with tons of regulars and randoms. Maybe it is the subject I’m trying to broach, maybe what is making my heart pound faster is the fact that I’m not just chatting, I’m trying to open an avenue into a totally new direction. As I wait what feels like minutes for her to answer, I decide that I am making too much of this. That likely nothing will come of it and I should just relax. It doesn’t work.

“Um, well, I am running my business. I’m in drop-shipping.”

She must see the blank, vapid expression on my face because she immediately clarifies.

“What I do, basically, is buy products from wholesalers and manufacturers and then sell them online. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was actually looking to start my own business, you know, try to get into something other than being a barista. I recently came into a bit of money.” I don’t know why I said that last bit. I can’t seem to control my mouth. I am so excited by the prospect of learning about a new opportunity that I am ready to burst. “Can you tell me a little more about it?”

“Sure,” she says, pulling out a chair with her foot. I take a seat next to her and she starts explaining the world of private labelling, drop-shipping, and online retail. I listen, rapt, for ten minutes or so as she shows me the programs she uses to identify products that would sell well, then sort them based on cost, weight, size, et cetera. She talks about how to negotiate with manufacturers in China and how to estimate how many units to buy at a time to balance shipping costs and warehousing fees. In no time at all, my head is spinning. I can tell she is trying to go slow, but there is such an odd vocabulary and so many concepts that I can’t keep up. Finally, I ask her the question I have been wanting to have answered, but felt uncomfortable asking.

“So, how much do you make doing this?”

“Oh, I have twelve products out right now…I’d say I do about twenty-five thousand in profit a month,” she answers nonchalantly.

My mouth drops to the floor. How could this woman, who walks to the coffee shop and sits here four or five hours a day, be making more than a quarter of a million dollars a year? I have seen her for months and you would never have guessed it. She gives a satisfied smile and pulls out a piece of paper. She writes a web address on it and slides it over to me.

“Here, check this out. They have a lot of free resources so you can learn more about it.”

I thank her and get up. I have neglected my current employment for long enough, even though there are few enough new patrons. I feel like I am buzzing. This could be it. I could totally do this. And with the cash, I wouldn’t have to worry about paying the bills while I get started and I have enough to order samples and finance all the start-up stuff myself. I am almost thankful that I received that unexpected student loan letter. I guess it pays to keep a positive attitude.

A broad smile creeps across my face. The night at the auction and Blake are behind me. I can just focus on the future. For the first time in a while, the future is looking bright.

The bell rings to announce the door opening. I look up to greet the new customer, but my voice catches in my throat. It is Blake.