Ah, just after closing – that’s my favorite time of day. The streetlights look like stars through the windows, and folks walk home, even in November, as they have for a hundred years. I wouldn’t have my store anywhere else besides historic downtown. It’s like working in a storybook.

The brick buildings would have guided my grandpa to market. Though, the concrete would’ve looked out of place to him. The city did a good job of mandating a look, because it looks seamless. The sun has a way of fading red concrete just as well as brick.

But the curse of work remains even on a night as clear and surprisingly comfortable as this. Oh, someone sampled a good Irish product today though, so that will help closing out the day. Everyone told me not to offer samples. “That’s gonna get expensive quickly,” they said. I’ve found it helps though. Few take me up on the offer, especially of the expensive stuff, but the offer makes people feel better about buying from me. And, they usually buy the bottle they sample. If not, I get to try things that I wouldn’t normally get.

Now, I can properly balance that register.

On my way to our register, I pass the dark wood almost built-in shelves and the bright wood displays across the floor. I wanted the displays to be the same color as the shelves, but Darlene told me that the displays should look different. “I mean that’s where we put the new and expensive stuff,” she said. Sure enough, my wife was right. Customers gravitate to these displays first.

Speaking of my wife, I wonder where she is.

With that thought, the door at the back left of our store pops open, and Darlene walks to the first display before a long sigh. She says, “The shop’s closed; let’s go home, William.”

I chuckle a bit before saying, “I know it’s a nice evening out there, so I’m looking forward to our walk too. I’d like to linger for a moment and finish with this register though. I think we had a pretty good day.”

Darlene walks to the sample area and swipes her coat onto one of the grey metal chairs. Her purse pounds into the slat wood table top. She declares, “Fine, I guess I’ll clean up then. You’re right though: We did have a decent day. Did you get to talk with Mr. Abernathy?”

While she grabs the broom, I run my register tapes with a shake of my head, like listening to “Don’t Come A Drinkin’.” I say, “No, I missed him. He must’ve come in while I was helping that lady looking at a gift. How’s he doing?”

Darlene reports on all the happenings in the Abernathy house, and they are plentiful. She’s got a real talent for listening to people as they shop. I wasn’t sure how she’d do selling wine and whiskey, but twenty years on, I think she’s got the hang of it – even better than I do some days. We tell tales of other customers as we take our steps through the day’s end. Soon enough, I’ve got the register ready to face tomorrow, which should be even better, and she finishes her sweeping a second or two later.

She says, “Now, let’s get to the house. I’ve got an excellent roast in the crockpot, so dinner is waiting on us.”

“That sounds fantastic,” I say.

After I put the till away, I grab my coat with two steps toward the door. But, I spot 2 bottles on a display facing the wrong way, so I stop to turn them around.

Darlene says, “Come on, now, William. I know the displays need some attention, but that will take us five minutes in the morning.” She digs in her purse for her keys as she marches to the front door with her coat.

She’s right, but I spot a couple more bottles on the next display. So, I fix them too. I say, “You’re right, even as close to opening as we get here, we can tag-team this in the morning.”

I pause again after passing another display, and Darlene closes her eyes with her hands on her hips. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was the same look she gave our son a few years ago. Our boy would get himself into the exact thing that she told him not to, and that was the same look that she’s giving me now. I ask, “What?”

“You’ve taken three steps toward this door. At this rate, you’ll prove Zeno right. The store looks great, and it is ready to greet anyone tomorrow. If the first customer is waiting in the parking lot for us in the morning, they will have no complaints about our shop. I can hear dinner complaining though.” She laughs before unlocking the front door.

“Yeah, that’s a fair point,” I say. “You do an excellent job of taking care of the place. This reminds me of opening day. Do you remember the night before?”

Darlene narrows her eyes at me, like I’ve asked about the capital of Idaho, so I keep talking. “I darted about this place twisting displays, rearranging bottles, and straightening labels. Meanwhile, I mentioned needing to push back opening day for another week. Then, you told me to see what happens, and opening day made such a legend that people still talk about it. I knew then that I had the perfect business partner.”

I, finally, make it to the front door, which Darlene opens for me. We embrace there before I turn out the lights. “Let’s go get some roast, Dear,” I say.

We step into the night, and Darlene grabs my hand, saying: “Not before our stroll to the house.”