Chapter 6

Weekends On Weekdays closes at around eight. Bellina, being a regular and having been a tutor to the two kids for about a month, was given free rein to hang around well into the night. This time, however, she decided to overstay her welcome and stay put longer. It was around ten when Mr. Taylor found her napping at the counter.

"Bell," said the man, leaning over the counter. No response.

He gave the countertop a gentle tap, careful not to startle her too much. "Bellina, wake up. You’re gonna be part of the furniture here if you’re not careful."

Bellina stirred, mumbling something incoherent before groggily lifting her head. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, blinked at him in confusion. "Huh…? What time is it?"

"Almost ten-thirty," Mr. Taylor replied, smirking. "You should get home before the night gets colder."

She rubbed her eyes, straightening up and glancing around. The chairs were stacked neatly on the tables, the lights dimmed except for the ones near the counter.

"Sorry, Mr. Taylor sir," she muttered. "I didn’t mean to pass out like that."

He waved off her apology with a good-natured shrug. "You really had those long days, huh?"

Bellina sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You could say that. Or just… long week, long month. You know how it is."

Mr. Taylor gave her a knowing look and poured a small cup of chamomile tea, sliding it toward her. "I know how Kaleido can chew you up and spit you out. But you’ve been pushing yourself hard. Maybe too hard."

She stared at the tea, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. "Feels like I don’t have much of a choice."

"You’re not failing," he said firmly. "You’re surviving. And sometimes, that’s all you can do."

Bellina sipped the tea, its warmth spreading through her. "Feels like surviving’s all I’ve been doing for a while now."

Mr. Taylor leaned on the counter, his expression softening. "You know, Bell, this place? It doesn’t always have to be about winning or losing. Sometimes it’s just about finding the little things that make the grind worth it. Like a good cup of tea at the end of a long day."

"A cup of joe won’t impress Mom and Pop. I already told you, right?" She gave him a small, tired smile. "But you’re good at this whole pep talk thing, you know."

He chuckled. "Occupational hazard. Spend enough time listening to people’s stories over coffee, and you pick up a thing or two."

"I want to bring home a really fat check, for once." Bellina finished her tea and stood, stretching. "Thanks, Mr. Taylor sir. I should get going before I really do turn into a table."

"If loads of cash is what you want, I know one place where you can get a decent shot at it."

Huehhhh? "Really!?" she said lunging at him. "Better not be a scam or anything!"

"You eat at my cafe day in and day out and now you think I'm a swindler."

"I just wanna make sure it's real, is all!"

"It is. But you will need to do a lot of work with this, of course."

"Anything for a fortune!"

Mr. Taylor leaned back against the counter as he crossed his arms. "Well, there’s a big market for it."

"Quit teasing and just tell me already!" Bellina said, her eyes practically sparkling with anticipation.

Smirk. "Sweet potatoes."

"…"

"…"

"… Taters?"

"Not just any taters,"' he clarified, holding up a finger. "Authentic ones. Grown the old-fashioned way, in real dirt, under real sunlight. The kind that people will pay a premium for."

Bellina frowned, crossing her arms. "You’re telling me I should… what, become a farmer? Like your kid wants to do?"

"Something like that," Mr. Taylor said with a nod. "There’s a plot of land out near Monticello Woods, same area Theo’s grandmother works the farm."

She bit her lip, considering the idea. Farming was not what she signed up for in Kaleido.

"And," Mr. Taylor added, "you’d be your own boss. No clients breathing down your neck."

And no pay cuts, no cats to chase through gondolas, her mind added out of the blue. Bellina couldn’t help but laugh. "OK, that last one’s a pretty big selling point."

He grinned. "So? What do you think? You ready to trade the grind of Kaleido for a taste of the simple life?"

Well… "I don’t know," she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. "I mean, it sounds great, but… it’s a big change."

"You’d learn," Mr. Taylor said, his tone encouraging. "And you wouldn’t be alone. Granny knows her stuff."

She stared out the café window, her thoughts drifting. The idea of waking up to fresh air and working with her hands was strangely appealing, but it was also terrifying. Could she really leave the city behind and start over?

"Think about it. The land’s not going anywhere, but opportunities like this don’t come around every day."

Bellina nodded slowly. "Lemme ruminate."

And as she left the café that night, her mind buzzing. Sweet potatoes, of all things. Who would’ve thought?

"Let's see..."

A daunting array of toiletries stood as a thick forest of bottles and stuff on the desktop by the window. It amazed and also perturbed Bell how much of her money over the past year or two had been funneled into her effort to improve her appearance--for no one in particular it turns out, because her beloved Kyle Banner was not at all likely to jaunt down a street near her.

She picked up a bottle of vitamin-infused toner, its label extolling virtues of “brilliance” and “vitality,” and turned it over in her hands. “Brilliance, huh?” she muttered. "Might as well slap 'not for Ironman Banner’s eyes' on the label."

She set the bottle down and leaned on the counter, staring at her reflection in the small oval mirror propped against the wall. Her skin did look better, she had to admit. The faint shadows under her eyes had faded, her complexion evened out, and her lips—she instinctively reached for the tinted balm she’d splurged on last month—were softer and subtly rosy.

She sighed and grabbed a hair tie, pulling her locks into a messy bun.

"Maybe it’s time to cut back," she said to herself, though she wasn’t entirely convinced.

"From serums to spuds. What a glow-up that’d be."

Bellina pushed herself away from the counter and straightened up. Maybe tonight, she’d skip the twenty-minute nighttime routine and just… let herself be.

"Dear Mrs. Bash....

"Uhhhh...."

Bell realized to her great consternation that she had somewhat forgotten to write a letter, of all things.

"Ahhhh!"

Her boss had insisted she write by hand. The woman had also told her not to crank a letter out of a text generator and that she can tell. On top of that, she said the letter should reflect the writer's personality. And that she can tell.

"Grrrr...."

Bellina put pen and paper aside for the moment and got her phone. Therein was an app which allowed one to try on any set of clothing, virtually. She typed in "farm outfits," and, in order to make it work, she had to do a little choreo....

"Costume Crystal Power Makeup!"

Bellina spun around dramatically, striking a series of exaggerated poses for the app to capture her full frame. The augmented reality feature responded instantly, projecting bubbles, hearts, and sparkles. And then… a series of farm outfits over her image on the screen.

The first option was a classic denim overall with a plaid shirt underneath and a floppy straw hat perched at a jaunty angle. It was the quintessential farmer look.

"Too cliché," she muttered.

Next was a sleek, modern take on farming attire: breathable fabrics, utility pockets, and a high-tech sun visor. The outfit practically screamed "influencer-ready agribusiness entrepreneur."

"Too pretentious," she said with a groan.

The third option made her stop. A simple linen tunic paired with sturdy boots and a woven hat. It had a timeless, earthy quality that made her pause. Bellina turned her head, admiring how the outfit complemented her features.

"Hmm. Not bad." She smiled, imagining herself walking through neat rows of sweet potato vines, the soil soft underfoot, the sun warm on her skin.

Her daydream was cut short when she remembered the daunting task still waiting on her desk. "The letter!" she groaned, flopping dramatically into her chair.

The blank sheet of paper stared back at her accusingly, and she stared right back.

"Okay, Mrs. Bash," she muttered, tapping the pen against her temple. "You want personality? I'll give you personality."

She started writing:

Dear Mrs. Bash,

I hope this letter finds you well and, more importantly, finds my cat-chasing incident long forgotten.

After much consideration, I’ve decided to pursue an opportunity outside the city.

While I’m genuinely thankful for my time here and for the lessons I’ve learned (like how to dodge flying gondolas), I feel it’s time to move on to something new.

I’ll be trading in high heels for work boots, client complaints for the quiet of Monticello Woods, and vending machine meals for homegrown produce. If that’s not a glow-up, I don’t know what is.

Thank you for your guidance and support during my time with the company. I’ll always remember it fondly—well, most of it.

Warm regards,

Bellina Robbins

She read the letter aloud to herself, chuckling at her own wit. "There. Personality."

Satisfied, Bellina folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. Then, with a triumphant grin, she held up her phone to admire herself once more in her chosen farm outfit.

"'Look out, Monticello Woods," she said, striking a pose. "Here comes Bellina, the sweet potato queen!"