My phone rings as I’m elbow-deep in the trunk of my car, setting a stack of business cards on top of a sign bearing Penchant’s logo. Tonight the caterer is bringing all the plates and cutlery we’ll need, so the other party decorations in my Camry are minimal. I mean, how much can you decorate a sex shop? Between the butt plugs and pasties, customers are already getting an eyeful.

The phone rings again, insistent. I curse and maneuver out of the trunk, dashing around the car to grab my cell off the driver’s seat. It’s a Boston number. I do the mental math in my head before I answer: there’s still plenty of time for me to shower, drive to Boston, and get everything set up before tonight’s event. As long as I keep it short, I can take the call. I wedge the phone between my shoulder and my ear while I shut the trunk.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Delilah? It’s Honey from Aphrodite’s Closet.” A bang sounds in the background, followed by a muffled noise like she’s talking to someone behind the scenes.

“Hi Honey, I was just getting ready to make my way over. Did the caterer and bartender send over their business insurance forms like they’d promised?” I’m babbling, the words pouring out of me with so much energy that I almost miss Honey’s next sentence.

“Actually, I’m calling with some bad news.”

No. Everything has to be perfect. I blink at the driveway, at the asphalt heated from the sun. My eyes still feel gritty from last night’s tears. Tiny bits of gravel crunch under my flip-flop as I twist my toe into the ground.

“What’s that?”

“We had some pipes burst in the shop overnight and we’re knee-deep in leakage right now. We’re going to have to cancel tonight’s event.”

I hear Honey, the low roll of her voice, but the words don’t make any sense. “We can’t cancel. I can get in the car right now and help you.”

Honey sighs into the phone and then I definitely hear cursing coming from somewhere on her end of the line. Maybe the word “shit”? I’m hoping it’s metaphoric.

“I’m sorry, Delilah. There’s just no way we can get this place cleaned up in time. We’ll still take the twenty units we ordered, but please don’t ship anything until we get all the water cleared out of here.”

“Right.” I draw my arms around me like a shield. “Okay.” I mumble a thank you to Honey, my lips numb around the words. Everything’s suddenly off kilter, the sky filled with too many clouds.

Breathe.

I should feel bad for Honey, I really should, but I can’t even process this. I’ve been waiting to launch Penchant lube for months, dreaming it and planning it so I know every detail of tonight’s party by heart. Hell, I’ve got a binder stuffed with sample images of the Sex on the Beach drinks and Better than Sex cupcakes. I’ve got a mockup with the table display and an app on my phone so I can accept credit card payments tonight. This can’t be real. But Honey’s hung up on me, and it is.

Oh my god. It’s over.

What do I do? My heart pounds in my chest, my breath coming in panicky, tight bursts. I have to move. Now.

Almost without thinking, my feet start to walk. I pace up the street and back, my flip-flops thwacking away on the sidewalk, the afternoon sunlight falling on my shoulders. It’s like Jackson’s rubbing off on me even when he’s not here, but somehow walking is the thing to do, the only way to quiet my thoughts.

I must look like a crazy person, in all reality, in my cutoff shorts and baseball shirt, my hair piled in a messy bun. I don’t look like a business owner, I don’t look like someone who has things together. I don’t look like someone who can do this. But Jackson’s voice echoes in my ear, solid and true. Don’t give up, Natalie. You can do this. And I can.

I set my shoulders and keep breathing. For the first time since I moved out of my apartment with Matthew, I’m not thinking about giving up. Jackson and I worked too hard for me to abandon this and I’m not going to. I remember how it felt to quit Holy Grounds, like I was pivoting instead of running away. That’s what I need to do now. I need to pivot. I just need a new plan.

So I walk. I make my way up and down the street three times before I can breathe normally, past all the pretty houses and their blank faces and their wide, green lawns. This stupid town that I didn’t even want to come back to—it’s been the home for all my business ideas lately. It’s been the place where I came up with Penchant, the place where I kept going with it even when I got scammed. It’s not going to be the place that I fail. It’s also not going to be the place where I get stuck. This business is going to work or this whole summer will have been for nothing.

Determined, I stride back into the guesthouse to grab a notebook and start planning. I literally cannot cancel the caterer and bartender—I’ve paid a huge deposit to them, so I might as well use them tonight. I just need to figure out how.

My mind whirls, spitting out ideas. Do I try to get a last-minute permit for an event at the amphitheater? Try to rent out a private room at a restaurant? A high whine sounds in my ears. Something has to work.

As I round the corner to my bedroom, I see the romance novel Abigail gave me, tossed carelessly on my bedside table. I haven’t cracked the cover yet, but when I see it, I freeze.

A romance novel. That’s it.

I grab my phone out of the pocket of my shorts and dial my best friend’s number.

“Abigail?” I say when she picks up the phone. “I’m going to need to borrow your shop.”