January first marked the official start of the transition.
Henderson's record store was in its final four months of operation, offering huge "CLOSING SALE" discounts on its remaining physical stock.
Every day, collectors, locals, and longtime neighbors came in to buy their last albums, say goodbye to Mr. Henderson, and wish Ethan luck with his new venture down the street.
Meanwhile, Ethan’s new shop was already taking in repair work.
By mid-January, word-of-mouth had spread so fast that Ethan’s workbench on 5th Street was already stacked with six vintage turntables, three guitar amplifiers, and four cassette decks waiting for repairs.
Ethan worked at Henderson's from eight to four, then walked down to his own shop from four to nine, soldering circuits, replacing belts, and aligning tonearms under the bright workbench lights.
Maya was there every night after her bakery shift ended, sitting on a high stool near the front counter, working on her graphic design sketches for the shop's business cards and website flyers.
On a cold Tuesday night in late January, around eight PM, Ethan was working on a 1975 Marantz receiver that belonged to a local high school teacher.
The workshop was quiet, except for the soft hum of the soldering iron and the quiet jazz music playing through the test speakers.
Maya stood up from her stool, walked behind his workbench, and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"You work too hard, grease monkey," she whispered into his ear.
Ethan set his soldering iron back into its metal safety stand, leaning his head back against hers. "Just three more capacitors to replace on this board, then I'm done for the night."
She kissed his cheek gently, her lips warm against his skin. "Sarah and I are making vegetable stew tomorrow night. You're coming over to my place at seven, no excuses."
Ethan turned his head, looking right into her dark, beautiful eyes. "I'll be there at six-forty-five."
"Good," she smiled, pressing her forehead against his. "Don't be late."
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