Chapter 8 - A Shop With Her Name on the Window
Jenna did not see Vincent for three weeks.
They spoke sometimes.
Briefly.
She needed distance from the version of him that existed in hotel gossip and from the version she wanted him to become.
Both could make a woman careless.
During those weeks, she worked.
She took Lily to school.
She completed two private alterations for neighbors and realized she had earned more from those jobs than from an entire hotel shift.
Mrs. Alvarez watched her calculate.
“You always wanted your own shop.”
“I also wanted eight hours of sleep. We don’t get everything.”
“Start with the shop. Sleep is clearly unrealistic.”
Jenna laughed.
Then opened a notebook.
Rent.
Insurance.
Equipment.
Taxes.
Childcare.
The dream looked less romantic with numbers attached.
It also looked possible.
A small storefront near the bus line had been empty for five months.
The landlord wanted a reliable tenant more than a glamorous one.
Jenna negotiated.
Badly at first.
Then better.
She applied for a community business loan, submitted her records, and waited.
Vincent knew none of this until she invited him to meet her outside the storefront.
He arrived wearing a soft gray jacket.
She stood beneath a faded sign that still advertised shoe repair.
“What do you think?”
He looked through the dusty glass.
“About what?”
“My shop.”
He turned.
“Yours?”
“If the financing closes. The lender approved it yesterday.”
For a moment, she saw the old instinct move across his face.
Offer money.
Remove difficulty.
Accelerate everything.
Then he smiled.
“Congratulations.”
Jenna felt something inside her loosen.
“Thank you.”
“What do you need?”
“Someone tall to help paint the ceiling. On Saturday. No employees sent in your place.”
“I own old clothes.”
“Apparently you own gray now. Anything could happen.”
They spent Saturday painting.
Mrs. Alvarez brought sandwiches.
Lily supervised with a clipboard she had made from cardboard.
Vincent got white paint in his hair.
Jenna laughed until he deliberately added a streak to her sleeve.
For one bright afternoon, nobody’s past ran the room.
Later, while Lily played next door with Mrs. Alvarez’s grandson, Jenna and Vincent sat on the floor among unopened boxes.
“How’s the review?” she asked.
“Uncomfortable.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Some practices ended. Some people left. Some records went to the authorities.”
“And you?”
“Cooperating through counsel. Paying what I owe where harm can be repaired. Accepting that some people won’t believe the changes.”
“Do you expect me to?”
He looked at her.
“I hope you’ll watch.”
She nodded.
“I can do that.”
In the months that followed, watching became its own kind of intimacy.
He accepted questions.
He kept appointments.
When headaches forced him to cancel, he said so without inventing business emergencies.
When Jenna declined help, he did not turn wounded.
When she asked for help, he did not make her regret asking.
Dominic’s case proceeded through filings and negotiations.
The evidence concerning the jackets required expert interpretation.
The financial evidence was more direct.
Eventually, he accepted a plea covering fraud, coercion, and conduct related to the deliberate garment modifications.
He would serve years in prison.
The court imposed restitution.
Vincent attended sentencing.
He did not celebrate afterward.
He went to Jenna’s shop.
She took one look at his face and locked the door early.
They sat at the cutting table.
“I keep remembering him at ten,” he said.
Jenna reached for his hand.
“You don’t have to turn him into a stranger to know what he did.”
His eyes closed.
For a long time, they remained there.
Outside, buses sighed at the stop.
Inside, the sewing machine stood silent.
Then Vincent said, “I love you.”
Jenna felt the words.
Not as rescue.
Not as reward.
As something offered without an invoice.
She squeezed his hand.
“I’m getting there.”
He opened his eyes.
May you like
“All right.”
And because he meant it, she moved closer.
