Evan's Invitation

Back when I was still at the company, I thought of myself as a pretty hardworking employee. Looking back now, I was probably just working quietly because I had nowhere else to put my mind.

Anyway, because of that, I'd always figured Rachel was a tough boss, but never someone who was truly unpleasant or difficult to work for.

But unlike the old company, where firm control and clear orders were necessary with so many people around, a place this small was a different story entirely…

"See? This is paper. And you've got your fist clenched tight right now, so I win this round."

I glanced sideways at Greg, who was trying to teach rock-paper-scissors to Luca — still not even a year old.

"……."

Yeah. That guy was a special case. Best to just pretend he wasn't there.

Being alone at the office with Rachel like this brought on a pressure that was hard to ignore. It wasn't that she was doing it on purpose — working that way was simply as natural to her as breathing, so there wasn't much I could say about it either…

And it wasn't as if I wanted to tell a dedicated employee pouring herself into company work that she didn't need to try so hard. Besides, Rachel had chosen this place over companies that would have looked far better on her résumé.

She wanted to make JL Studio a success just as badly as I did.

After a brief moment of thought, I answered with a soft laugh that came out almost like a sigh.

"Of course we should check it over, Rachel. But I think that can wait until after lunch. At the table, phones and laptops are all off-limits."

We all wanted the company to do well. Differences in how we handled work could be smoothed out little by little going forward.

"I see."

Rachel didn't argue. She followed my instruction without complaint. Unlike Greg, who casually shoved his phone into his back pocket, she left hers on her desk entirely before coming over to sit down.

Gathered around the table, we carefully considered the menu.

"I used to just eat whatever I felt like, but these days I build the main dishes around the meal plan Cassandra got for her diet."

"Could you give me an example?"

"Hmm… Even if I'm craving fries and a burger, I'll skip the bun and do a whole butter-roasted potato with a side salad instead."

Rachel nodded with genuine enthusiasm.

"That menu you just described sounds incredible. My mouth is watering."

"Okay. It'll take about thirty or forty minutes, so have some fruit first."

While I handled the main cooking, Greg took charge of feeding Luca. Rachel sliced fruit for everyone, helped me as a sous-chef, and even took over the cooking footage that was usually Cassandra's job.

As we each did our part and chatted lightly, a fragrant, steaming meal came together before we knew it.

"All right, shall we eat?"

The moment I set the food out and filmed the insert shots, Greg and Rachel reached for their utensils. And I scooped up Luca, who had already finished his own meal, watched me cook the entire time, and stretched his hands out the instant I sat down.

"How much more are you planning to eat?"

"Hee…"

Sitting on my lap, watching every bite I brought to my mouth, then conquering me with those signature "aren't you going to give me a bite?" eyes and eventually stealing some of Dad's food — that had become Luca's daily routine lately.

I'd cut back a little on the basic seasoning because of him, but even with salt and pepper on the side, everyone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠else seemed to have gotten used to the milder flavors by now.

"…It's definitely different."

Rachel, who had been fighting a quiet personal battle to eat elegantly rather than aggressively, set down her fork as she spoke.

"Sorry? What is? Have you already finished?"

"No. I'm going to wait five minutes, then eat some more."

Was the five-minute wait her own effort at portion control? I didn't really know whether a pregnant woman should eat whatever she wanted or hold back even when she was hungry, so I just nodded.

"So what is it that's different?"

"The company atmosphere. It doesn't feel like a company."

"Hmm…"

That "doesn't feel like a company" remark made me a little uneasy, and I half-lowered my fork — but at the same moment, Rachel picked hers back up and continued. Her predetermined five minutes must have been up.

"I expected it might be like this even before I joined, but actually sitting down and working here… it really is different. It feels like stepping away from everything I'd gotten used to at other companies. The rigid spaces, the stiff ways of thinking — all of that."

I couldn't tell whether she meant that as a good thing or was simply stating that it was different. As if reading my confusion, Greg asked on my behalf from the seat beside her.

"So how is it, babe? Pretty good, right?"

"I'm worried I won't be able to do the work well. Most of what I do is what I've always done, but still."

That was something I hadn't expected at all. So Rachel had her own worries about the new workplace too.

While I turned that new piece of information over in my mind, Luca reached out, grabbed my fork, and stuck it in his own mouth. You little rascal.

I swapped the fork in his hand for a water bottle and chose my words carefully — something a boss might say to put an employee at ease.

"I don't think you need to put too much pressure on yourself, no matter what. We're a company of only four people. That means we have to trust each other and grow together more than anywhere else."

"That's right, babe. You can lean on me here. I've already learned this and that, all kinds of stuff. Did a lot of self-studying too."

"Mm…"

Greg thumped his chest as he said it, but from where I was sitting, it was painfully obvious that when it came to work, Rachel would rather pull an all-nighter learning things herself than rely on him.

"Besides — Rachel, bad at her job? That sounds about as believable as Greg being a genius. I trust you, Rachel."

At my playful remark, Rachel laughed as she swallowed the potato she'd stuffed into both cheeks like a squirrel. Greg set down his fork with a serious face and muttered,

"Okay, it took me a second to process that one…?"

After lunch, Greg and Rachel headed out for a short walk. I played with Luca for a bit and then put him down for his nap.

Then the three of us gathered around a single monitor and visited Evan's online bookstore.

The site was built from clean lines, simple shapes, and muted monochrome tones, with the word Bibliophile written across it in white lettering.

"Naming the bookstore 'Bibliophile'… it suits him so well. I only met him briefly that one time, but somehow I just knew he'd go with something like that. Even setting aside the whole editor thing."

"Right?"

Cassandra ran into Evan fairly often, but Greg and Rachel had only seen him briefly at the studio opening celebration.

"But wait — is this it? Is this seriously all the books he's selling? Is it because he hasn't officially launched yet?"

The site was clean — too clean. You couldn't even really call it well-organized. The entire catalog of books listed was just the titles Evan had curated under Love and War.

It was only a website, but the quiet emptiness of it felt like walking into a shop no one even knew existed yet.

"It really does feel like a minimalist boutique."

"Exactly. I'll put that in the reply."

Evan had sent the Bibliophile link in an email, asking for our first impressions and thoughts on the site before he kicked off any real promotion.

I thought it over briefly, then decided to be honest about how all of us felt. A simple "cool site" wouldn't be nearly as useful as something that might actually help, even a little.

I wanted to see Evan do well now. If I'd only ever met him as an outsider, without knowing anything about his circumstances, I might have found him a little difficult — maybe even unpleasant.

But now that I knew this guy was a lonely middle-aged man with no friends and a wife who was barely in the picture, I couldn't help feeling differently. Not that he was the kind of person who needed my worry, of course.

I brought over my laptop right away and started drafting an email — something about how the site reflected his personality and looked great, but also asking whether running it this way was really the right call.

Before sending it, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I hesitated. Reading the email over again, I noticed how many negative words had crept in, and it bothered me. At times like this, a voice was better than text. So I deleted the email and called him instead.

Fortunately, Evan understood exactly what I was trying to say.

"Hmm…"

Hearing that, I understood what he meant. Existing bookstores were mostly run by major corporations, and an ordinary individual simply wouldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have the money or time to build anything on that scale. Even another large company jumping in would struggle.

But even so, looking at his site, I still couldn't bring myself to say, "This is going to do great!"

As if he understood my worried silence, Evan let out a hearty laugh. Then he made me an offer.

I was about to say yes when a thought flashed through my mind like lightning. I smiled slightly and made a counteroffer of my own.

"So you're inviting me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over to interview the owner of a newly opened bookstore, is that it?"

Laughter came through the receiver once more. Evan's voice was unmistakably softer than before.

The following Wednesday.

I deliberately chose a day when Reni didn't have kindergarten, and the first time I laid eyes on Evan's new workplace, I honestly thought it didn't suit him at all.

The space he'd secured for his new business was out on the outskirts, among warehouse-style furniture stores and similar places. The building, made of old red brick, was tall and spacious. But the wide parking lot, big enough for trucks, sat empty and windswept, and the interior looked like it would be much the same.

Since it wasn't a brick-and-mortar bookstore, the exterior probably didn't matter — all he needed was room to store books and a few computers. That must have been why he chose a place like this.

Even after parking, the desolate surroundings left me so disoriented that I just stood there looking around, wondering if we were even in the right spot.

Then the shutter of the warehouse right in front of us rolled up, and Evan appeared. His face, which I hadn't seen in a while, was full of energy.

"Welcome. You can leave the car parked right there. Or, if you'd rather keep the children out of the cold wind, you're welcome to pull inside."

"All right. We'll do that, then."

At my reply, Evan stepped aside, and I drove into the empty warehouse. The ceilings were high and the interior was bright, but with nothing in it, it still wasn't much to look at.

I did my best not to let that impression show, smiling as I got out of the car with the kids. Then Reni suddenly shouted in a clear, ringing voice.

"Wooow! There's nothing here!"

Apparently delighted by the echo of his own voice, Reni bounced up and down and yelled "There's nothing here!" a couple more times.

Son…

If I left him like this, the younger one would join in before long, and then both of them would be screaming their heads off.

I motioned for Reni to come over and asked Evan the obvious question.

"So this will be the loading and unloading area going forward?"

"Yes. For the time being it'll just be me shipping packages through the post office, but still. Please, come in."

Evan watched Reni bouncing around with a faintly wistful smile, then lowered the shutter. He opened a heavy iron door leading deeper into the building.

And then — the sight that unfolded before my eyes drew a pure, unguarded gasp of wonder from me.