Wednesday evening brought a clear, freezing night with a bright full moon shining over the city rooftops.
At six-thirty PM, after closing the store, Ethan and Maya were walking down 5th Street, bundled in their heavy coats, looking at empty storefront windows.
The neighborhood was full of old brick buildings—some abandoned, some undergoing minor renovations, some with yellowed "FOR LEASE" signs taped to the glass.
They stopped in front of a small storefront near the corner of 5th and Elm, three blocks away from Henderson's.
The place had been a vacuum repair shop that closed down two years ago. The glass window was dusty, the interior dark, but through the glass, Ethan could see a clean concrete floor, original brick walls, and a solid wooden counter near the back.
Taped to the front glass was a small white paper sign: FOR LEASE - 800 SQ FT - CALL GABLE REALTY.
Ethan froze, staring at the sign. "Gable Realty?"
Maya looked at the sign, then at Ethan. "Isn't Mr. Gable your landlord?"
"Yeah," Ethan said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "He owns half the old commercial buildings on 5th Street."
"Call him," Maya urged, nudging his shoulder with her elbow. "Right now."
Ethan dialed Mr. Gable's number. The phone rang four times before the loud, raspy voice answered.
"Gable here! Who's this?"
"Mr. Gable, it's Ethan. From apartment 2B."
"Ethan! Did the ceiling leak again? I told you, I patched it!"
"No, the ceiling is fine," Ethan said quickly. "I'm standing in front of the old vacuum shop on 5th and Elm. The one with the lease sign."
There was a three-second silence on the line, followed by the sound of Mr. Gable blowing his nose into a paper towel.
"The vacuum place? Yeah. What about it?"
"How much are you asking for the lease?" Ethan asked, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Eight hundred a month," Mr. Gable said flatly. "Plus utilities. Needs a new coat of paint and the back toilet leaks if you flush it too hard."
Eight hundred a month. That was less than half of what commercial spaces went for on 4th Street.
"Can I look inside tomorrow morning?" Ethan asked, holding his breath.
"Come by my office at eight AM, Ethan. I'll give you the key," Mr. Gable said before hanging up with a loud click.
Ethan lowered his phone, looking at Maya in the dim streetlight.
Maya was grinning—a wide, bright, gorgeous smile that lit up her dark eyes in the cold night air.
"Eight hundred?" she asked softly.
"Eight hundred," Ethan repeated, a breathless laugh escaping his lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her right off her feet in the middle of the empty, icy sidewalk.
Maya laughed out loud, her arms wrapping around his neck, her cold nose pressing against his cheek under the bright full moon.
"You're gonna have your own shop, grease monkey," she whispered into his ear.
"We're gonna have a shop," Ethan corrected, setting her feet back down on the pavement, holding her close in the freezing night.
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