The bell above the shop door didn't sound like a bell anymore. It sounded more like a dying bird, a high-pitched scraping noise that made everyone inside wince every single time someone came in. Ethan had been telling his boss about fixing it for like three months now, but every time he brought it up, Mr. Henderson just waved his hand and said something about "vintage charm."
"It's not vintage, man, it's just broken," Ethan muttered to himself, leaning over the front counter with a screwdriver he wasn't actually using.
He looked at the clock on the wall. 10:14 AM. The shop had been open for fourteen minutes, and so far, the only customer was an old guy in a faded trench coat currently staring at a stack of discounted jazz CDs like they owed him money.
The back door slammed open, and Leo kicked his way into the front room carrying two giant cardboard boxes. He looked like he’d been running from a dog.
"Bro, you gotta help me with these," Leo said, dropping the boxes onto the rug with a heavy thud that kicked up a small cloud of dust. "The guy from the delivery truck dropped them in the alley and just drove off. Didn't even ask for a signature."
"Did you get the invoice?" Ethan asked, not moving from his spot.
"Uh... maybe?" Leo wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "I think it’s in my back pocket. Or maybe it fell in the puddle outside. Look, doesn't matter right now. We got the new shipment of indie rock stuff from last month. Finally."
"It’s September, Leo. That shipment was supposed to come in July."
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. Or the guy who just hauled eighty pounds of cardboard up three steps." Leo pulled a crushed bag of chips from his hoodie pocket and tossed a handful into his mouth. "By the way, your shoe's untied."
Ethan looked down. His left sneaker lace was indeed dragging in the dirt on the floor. He sighed, set the screwdriver down on the glass display case, and bent down to tie it. As soon as he knelt down, the front door scraped open again with that awful squeaking sound.
"Hey Ethan, you floor-inspecting or working today?"
Ethan froze, almost tying a double knot into a tangled mess. He stood up a bit too fast, bumping his shoulder against the edge of the counter. "Ow—uh, hey Maya. No, just... lace thing."
Maya stood near the entrance, holding a paper bag from the bakery down the street. She had flour dusted on the side of her dark apron and looked like she hadn't slept more than four hours. "Right. Well, I brought those cinnamon rolls my manager messed up on. They're slightly burnt on the bottom, but hey, free food."
"Burnt is my middle name," Leo said, sliding over and taking the bag without asking. "Thanks Maya. You're a lifesaver. Ethan was about to make us eat the dust under the vinyl racks."
"I was not," Ethan said, rubbing his shoulder. "Thanks, Maya. Really. How's the morning rush over there?"
"Nightmare," she said, leaning her back against the door frame. "Some guy came in at seven in the morning demanding twelve almond croissants. Like, who needs twelve almond croissants at seven in the morning? We hadn't even finished baking the sourdough yet. He started complaining about 'customer rights' or whatever."
"Was it that guy with the slicked-back hair?" Leo asked around a mouthful of pastry. "The one from the audio store across the street?"
"Julian?" Maya rolled her eyes. "Yeah, actually. How'd you guess?"
"Because he came in here yesterday asking if we sold 'audiophile-grade cable cleaning spray,'" Ethan said, pulling a chair out from behind the counter. "I told him we had glass cleaner and a microfiber rag, and he looked at me like I insulted his entire family."
"He's annoying," Maya said simply. She grabbed a burnt roll from the bag Leo was holding and took a bite. "Anyway, I gotta head back before Sarah notices I’ve been gone for fifteen minutes. Leave the bag on the counter when you're done, Leo."
"Will do," Leo said, though he was already halfway through his second roll.
Maya turned around and pushed the door open, triggering the same horrible screeching noise. "Seriously, Ethan, fix that door. It hurts my ears."
"I'm working on it!" Ethan called out, though he hadn't even touched the hinges yet.
She gave a small wave over her shoulder and walked out into the morning light, heading down the sidewalk toward the bakery.
Ethan stood there for a second, watching through the somewhat dirty glass window until she turned the corner. He reached for the screwdriver again, picked up a can of WD-40 from under the counter, and walked over to the door. He sprayed a little bit on the top hinge. A drop of greasy oil immediately fell straight onto his nose.
"Nice aim," Leo said from the counter.
Ethan wiped his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a black smudge across his face. "Just grab the cutter and help me unpack these boxes."
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