I stood behind the counter at Willow’s Market, the little corner store I had worked at for four years. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the air, mingling with the warm scent of cinnamon from the bakery section. It was a comforting mix, the kind of smell that made the place feel like home.
I ran my fingers over the edge of the shelf, straightening the jars of homemade jam. Every item had its place, and I made sure of it. Keeping the store neat wasn’t just part of the job; it was my way of showing that I cared.
Beside the register, a small box sat filled with handwritten notes—each one carrying a simple kind wish for the customers. “Hope today brings you something good,” or “You’re stronger than you think.” Some people ignored them, others smiled politely, and a few tucked them into their pockets like tiny treasures.
Just then, the front door swung open, the bells jangling loudly. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Logan.
Logan was the son of the store’s owner, Richard. But Logan didn’t care much for Willow’s Market. He wanted something more profitable—maybe a liquor store, or a vape shop. The kind of business that brought in quick cash. Not the slow, steady business his father had built over the years. But Richard had refused. Willow’s Market was more than just a store; it was part of the community.
Logan, though, didn’t understand that.
He sneered as he scanned the store, his eyes cold, his hands buried in the pockets of his expensive coat.
How’s it going, Claire?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of something sharp, something disdainful.
I straightened and forced a polite tone. “We’re doing well. I opened early today to get everything ready.”
His eyes flicked toward my box of notes, the ones I’d written with so much care.
What the hell is this?” he scoffed, pulling one note from the box with two fingers, as though it were something dirty. “Enjoy the little things? What kind of sentimental garbage is this?”
Before I could respond, he tossed the note on the floor, and with a careless swipe of his hand, knocked over the entire box. The notes fluttered like wounded birds, scattering across the wooden floor.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and quickly knelt down to gather them up, my hands shaking. “It’s just something nice for customers,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady.
