Page 40 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)
Ben
Four Months Later
I never thought I’d say this, but there I was, standing in a half-renovated storefront in the middle of Buttercup Lake, holding a vintage Darth Vader helmet and wondering what in the actual hell I was doing with my life.
There were paint fumes in the air, unopened boxes stacked like unstable LEGO towers, and a rumpled ‘OPENING SOON’ banner rolled halfway across the counter that had been in use a week ago, because now I was almost officially open.
I had a soft opening that went well, and I’d been cranking up my hours more and more.
And somehow, I felt more alive than I had in a decade.
Fifi sat cross-legged on the floor near the front window, sorting through a bin of new merchandise with the kind of focus I loved watching.
“You sure about this one?” she asked, holding up a flocked Chewbacca. “He’s either very rare or needs conditioner.”
I grinned. “Both, probably.”
She shook her head, amused. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this. You, of all people. Mr. Cranky McBriefcase.”
“That was my name in another life,” I said. “I retired it.”
“And replaced it with Comic Book Ben, Hero of Nostalgia?”
I laughed and leaned back against the freshly painted wall, still slightly tacky. “It’s weird, isn’t it? The guy who used to argue liability now sells bobbleheads. I guess I’m ready for a fun childhood.”
“I think it’s adorable,” she said, then paused. “But also mildly concerning. Do you even like toys?”
“Not the modern stuff,” I admitted. “But vintage? That’s where the magic is. I grew up escaping into comics and cartoons because my home was... not exactly a comfort zone. So yeah. I like toys. I like what they meant. ”
She studied me for a beat, that thoughtful tilt to her head that always made me feel like she was reading more than just my words.
“You tapped your savings for this,” she said softly.
“Yeah.”
“All of it?”
“Most of it.” I nodded.
She let out a long breath. “Ben.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean…” She got up and walked over, standing so close I could smell her shampoo, coconut and something sweet, probably hope. “That’s a huge leap.”
“I know,” I repeated, softer this time. “But I couldn’t keep chasing a career that made me feel like I was failing, even when I won. I needed a reset.”
Her eyes searched mine, and I wasn’t sure if she was going to lecture me or kiss me or both.
Instead, she poked my chest with one finger and said, “Well, at least you had the good sense to open the only comic and toy store within a hundred-mile radius. In a town obsessed with quirky shops and summer nostalgia? You’ll do great.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely. Every tourist who steps off a bus looking for cheese curds and charm will stumble in here looking for a souvenir. Especially if you stock those creepy old action figures with bulging eyes.”
“I already ordered six crates.”
She grinned. “You’re a monster.”
I nudged her chin gently. “You’re my favorite customer already.”
She looped her arms around my neck, her face tipped up toward mine. “That’s because I’ve seen what you do for your customers. You built shelves with your bare hands.”
“I also hit my thumb with a hammer. Twice.”
“And you didn’t cry once,” she teased.
“I wanted to.”
Her smile softened, and her hands slid down to rest on my chest. “I’m proud of you, lumberjack.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I’d heard a lot of praise in my life. Applause in courtrooms, handshakes from managing partners, nods of approval from people who couldn’t remember my birthday but sure loved my win/loss ratio.
But proud ? From someone who saw me?
That was different.
That mattered.
I leaned my forehead against hers and whispered, “Thanks for not telling me I’m crazy.”
“Oh, you’re crazy,” she said. “But in the best possible way.”
And just like that, the fear buzzing under my skin quieted.
I wasn’t just opening a shop.
I was building something that finally felt like it belonged to me.
And with Fifi beside me?
I started to believe I could actually pull it off.
“Now, meet me at your place later. I’ve got a surprise for you.” She winked at me, and my heart raced because Fifi’s surprises were always the best.
She placed a soft kiss on my lips, patted my butt, and skipped….yes, skipped…out of the shop, leaving it silent.
Some boxes were stacked against the walls in some semblance of order, the shelving units secured, the display table set with a few choice pieces Fifi insisted “needed to catch the eye first.” She’d even drawn a little chalkboard sign for the front window that said Level Up Your Nostalgia Here , complete with a stick-figure superhero and a speech bubble that read: Best toy store ever (probably).
I was still laughing when I locked the front door behind her, the sound echoing longer than expected in the empty space.
She had that effect on me, filling the quiet and lighting up dark corners I didn’t realize were still unlit.
The moment her car disappeared down the road, something else settled in.
Weight.
Not the kind from boxes or shelving units, but the old kind. The kind that creeps in once the lights are off and the distractions disappear.
I stood in the middle of the shop, listening to nothing but the creak of the cooling ductwork and the soft hum of doubt in the back of my mind.
Was this crazy?
I’d sunk almost every dime of my savings into this place.
Walked away from a career people spent decades clawing their way toward. Said no to bonuses, and no to a track that guaranteed stability and prestige.
For what?
A shop.
A gamble.
A second act I wasn’t sure I deserved.
Love.
I moved toward the front, looking out the wide windows at the empty street.
Buttercup Lake always had this quiet hum, peaceful, but never dead.
Somewhere out there, kids were probably still tossing stones into the lake, a diner buzzed with fresh coffee, and the moon watched it all with the kind of indifference I wished I could fake.
But I couldn’t, because the fear wasn’t just about failing.
It was about failing in front of her.
Fifi had been all in.
Helping me arrange the shelves. Laughing when I second-guessed my pricing stickers. Bringing me coffee and patience and that kind of wide-eyed belief I didn’t know how to earn.
And what if it all crashed?
What if she were just the next person I disappointed?
The thought settled like lead in my gut.
I reached for my phone. I wasn’t even sure what I planned to do: scroll, text her, stare at the wallpaper of an empty comic panel I never got around to changing, but the screen lit up before I touched it.
One new text from her.
Don’t panic. You’re gonna be great. Even your bobbleheads believe in you.
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I smiled, because somehow, she knew.
Knew the second the door closed behind her that I’d start to spiral. That the quiet would come for me. That I’d need reminding, gently, but firmly, that this wasn’t a mistake.
This was the start.
And the truth?
Even if the shelves sat empty for a month.
Even if I got pricing wrong or forgot to order the hot summer item—
Even then, it would still be the bravest thing I’d ever done.
And it had nothing to do with action figures.
It had everything to do with her, and I knew I was crazy for not following her out the door, so I grabbed my keys, turned off the lights, and made my way to the car.
My U-Haul was waiting for me at the house, and I’d already procrastinated two days with it sitting in the driveway, still packed up like I’d just pulled in from the long drive.
But it was like the moment I put in my notice at the firm, procrastinating looked good on me. The drive wasn’t far. It would be nearly impossible to pick a house with a bad commute around here.
I smiled at the thought and shook my head as I parked in my driveway, climbed out of the car, and stared at the U-Haul like it was about to spit on me.
But when I walked around the back, I was shocked.
There were only four rows of boxes left inside, each one smugly crammed above the others like a game of emotional Tetris, and all I could think of was why would someone steal my crap?
“So, look who decided to finally show up.” Beck crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.
“You did this?” I asked in complete shock and denial. Things like this didn’t happen in my world.
“Excuse me. It wasn’t all him.” Sienna stood next to her brother, her expression one of unimpressed judgment.
“I’m without words…” I ran my hands through my hair and shook my head. “But thanks.”
“No.” Beck smiled. “Thank you for not moving in the middle of summer. Autumn suits hauling boxes much better.”
I chuckled. “I’m honestly… I can’t thank you enough.”
“Well,” Sienna said, folding her arms. “Those boxes aren’t going to lift themselves, Florida.”
I gave her a sidelong glance and shook my head. “You can’t call me that anymore. I even got my car licensed here. Officially a Wisconsinite.”
She grinned. “Still sounds fake.”
Beck snorted. “Let the man unpack first before you give him a hard time. At least he’s not wearing sandals with socks.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but froze as the screen door behind us creaked open.
And just like that, the heat on my skin had nothing to do with the sun.
Fifi stepped out, carrying a cardboard tray of iced coffees. Her dark hair was still tied up in a messy bun, sunglasses perched on her head, and a wide smile that made my pulse do regrettable things.
“I come bearing caffeine and sarcastic commentary,” she said, handing me a cup. “Fuel for your relocation-induced midlife crisis.”
I laughed. “That’s generous. I was hoping to hold off on the crisis part until I realized how many mystery cords I packed without labels.”
“Oh, you’re already in denial,” she teased. “Classic.”
Sienna reached for her cup and bumped my shoulder on purpose. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s the type who alphabetizes his spices. I peeked in one of the boxes.”