As October drew to a close and the city plowed full steam ahead into November, I barely found a spare second to relax, let alone attend a Knights game.

With one of the bartenders at Apollo's having been let go, I agreed to work a few extra shifts, and at the same time, my imagination seemed to go wild with ideas for new designs. When I wasn't working, I was sketching or stitching together my ideas piece by piece, not realizing a big day was approaching until it arrived.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened on the first Friday of November; I simply received my bi-weekly pay stub. But it turned out to be more than any old pay stub. With this cheque, I'd once again saved enough to truly start working towards building the business of my dreams. A lingerie boutique filled with attire for women of all shapes and sizes. One that would stock both my personal designs, as well as apparel sourced from other local designers I'd built relationships with over the years.

I'd been close before, having gotten to the point of placing a deposit down on a space I'd absolutely fallen in love with, but then tragedy had struck and the rug had been pulled out from beneath me, sending me tumbling back to square one.

It didn't matter though, because I'd bounced back and had full confidence that when I did hit the ground running, I would succeed.

There were still several hurdles standing in my way though, one of which was the location. Because while I'd already found another spot and had contacted the seller a month ago to let him know I was interested, I only had enough saved for a down payment. Which meant I needed to rely on a loan for the rest.

So, as soon as my cheque had been deposited into my account, I jumped into action.

Two phone calls later, after a repetitive string of music while I waited on hold with my bank, I managed to book a meeting early the following week.

In the days leading up to the appointment, I could barely contain my excitement. This was it. All my hard work over the past couple years—all the ups and downs—it'd all be worth it.

When the day of the meeting finally arrived, I woke up early despite having worked a late shift the night before. Going through my normal morning routine, I kept waiting for the nerves to settle in, or the moment I began to second guess myself, but neither came. Instead, I pulled on one of my latest designs, a pale pink set of lacy underwear with white and gold stitching, and felt confident in my own skin.

Over top, I threw on a cream blouse, a tapered blazer, and a pair of black slacks, looking every bit like the professional business woman I hoped to become as I headed out the door. Being that it was mid-morning on a Monday, traffic was a non-issue and I made it to the bank with plenty of time to spare.

The wind nipped at my cheeks as I walked across the plaza parking lot, my head down and a folder clutched tightly to my chest. When I reached the bank, I pulled open the glass door and patted my hair down, joining the short line which lead to the front desk.

"Hi," I said, offering the woman behind the counter a smile once I reached the front. "I have an appointment scheduled for eleven. For Joelle."

The woman scanned her screen, clicking around a few times before nodding. "You'll be meeting with Delilah this morning, but she's still tied up in another consultation. Have a seat and she'll come out and meet you when she's ready."

"Thanks."

Taking a seat in one of the open chairs across the room, I reached for one of the mints in a small glass bowl on the table next to me, unable to help myself. Slipping it into my purse for later, I flipped open the folder in my lap and double checked all my paperwork was in order.

Ten minutes later, the sound of heels clicking across the tiled floor caught my attention. Glancing up, I saw an older woman, likely in her late fifties, leading a young couple towards the doors. The couple wore identical grins as they thanked her, each of them shaking her hand one final time before turning to leave.

The woman, whose greying hair had been pulled into a tight bun, then looked my way. "Joelle?" she asked, and when I nodded, she gestured for me to follow her. "Right this way."

Soft music, muffled voices, and the whirring of the printer jumbled together as she led me back to her office, and still, there was no hint of the jitters. No insecurities or uneasy thoughts. I was ready to make this official.

"So, Joelle, why don't you explain to me why you're applying for a loan," she said, jumping right into it as I sat down across from her.

"I'm looking to open my own business," I replied, not allowing her straightforwardness to throw me off. "I have enough saved up for a down payment on the space, but I'll need the extra money to get the business up and running."

She nodded, likely having heard the same words from countless aspiring business owners. "Can I see a copy of your account details with us? As well as a valid piece of ID?"

Sliding both across her desk, I watched as she skimmed them over before placing them on the scanner, transferring them into the new file she'd opened on her computer. When that was done, the two of us went through my previous job history and education, and I explained how I'd been lucky at Boston University, scoring scholarships and paid internships that covered most of the costs associated with a higher education. I'd then moved on, going over my plans for developing and growing my business, as well as showing her the proposal I'd drawn up to explain how I'd use the money I was asking for.

"Well, from what I've pulled together, you appear to have a good credit score and no outstanding debts. And though your income hangs on the lower side of our typical approvals, you have a consistent income." In that moment, I allowed the first seed of worry to sprout, and I was left squirming in the uncomfortable seat as I waited for her to continue. "However, your business plan looks solid, and I can tell this projects means a lot to you." The corner of her lips pulled upwards and a spark of hope ignited inside me. She folded her hands in front of her and rested them atop the files I'd spread out across her desk. "If you don't mind waiting around town for an hour or two, I can hand off my recommendation for your loan to my supervisor, and if it gets approved, you'll be more than welcome to come in and sign off on it later this afternoon."

"Yes, yes of course," I said, clearing my throat. "I don't mind at all." My head was spinning, knowing this was finally happening. Following her movements, I stood, holding out my hand to shake hers with gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Leaving her my number, I left the bank knowing that even with her recommendation, there was still the chance of not being approved for the amount I had requested, but something was telling me things would fall into place. That in a measly two hours, what had once been an intangible vision would start to become a reality.

***

Hours later, after officially signing off on the loan the bank had approved me for, an overwhelming amount of joy coursed through me. Especially as I made a detour on the way home, passing by the building that would soon be mine.

The owner had closed his doors months ago, needing a bigger space to house his fast-growing tech start-up, but for me, the space was perfect. Large, glass windows took up the entirety of the storefront, allowing passersby to sneak a peek inside, and while it didn't look all that impressive at the moment, a few touch ups would do wonders to liven up the place. With a bit of paint, a new layout, and maybe even an awning outside, the place would be transformed.

It was surreal to think about, having not truly sunk in yet, but this was happening. It was finally happening.

Arriving home, I kicked off my shoes and made a beeline for the sofa, dropping my purse and my folder full of documents on the coffee table before sinking into the cushions. Raising my eyes to the sky, I mouthed a silent prayer to the heavens, thanking the guardian angel who'd clearly been watching over me.

It wasn't enough though. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, making it impossible to sit still and relax. Leaning forwards to pluck my phone from my purse, I unlocked the screen. Scrolling quickly to the contact information I'd saved for the man who owned the store space, I didn't hesitate before dialing.

After all, with luck currently on my side, there was no better time than the present.

The line rang three times before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Joelle Morrow," I said, my voice a smidge high-pitched thanks to the buzz of excitement rushing through me. "We spoke on the phone about a month ago, then again on Friday. I was interested in buying the property you own on Dartmouth street."

"Yes, yes, I remember."

"Well," I continued, clearing my throat, "if you'd still be willing to sell to me, and could give me the number of the realtor company you're using, I'd be happy to talk with them about making an official offer."

It should have been that moment—the one filled with a long, drawn out silence—that made me realize things were not about to go my way. Sadly though, I waited for him to reply, hopeful and naïve.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That property actually isn't for sale any longer."

I sat up abruptly as my luck ran out. "Wh-what?" I asked, my throat suddenly dry.

"It's been sold."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. "But I just drove by! The For Sale sign is still up."

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I signed the space over to the new owners this morning."

With those words, I felt everything I'd worked so hard for come crashing down around me. Again. I thought I'd had it all figured out this time, but with three simple words, he'd taken away the last piece of the puzzle. The piece that held everything together—the money, the designs, the plan. And now it could be months before I found another space suitable enough.

Time I didn't have.

The telltale signs of anger began bubbling beneath my skin. "What happened between now and the last we talked?" I exclaimed. "I told you I was close to pulling together the money, and you promised if I could do that, you'd sell me the space."

"Now listen here young lady," he responded sternly, his southern drawl coming out, "I may have said some things, and would've been happy to sell to you, but I never promised you nothing. Another buyer approached me over the weekend with a better offer, one which I would've been a fool to turn down."

"Then tell me who the other buyer was," I begged in a last-ditch effort. "Maybe I can talk to them. Reason with them in some way. If I just—"

"There's nothing you can do. It's a done deal."

"But—"

"I'm sorry," he said, cutting me off. "I hope you end up finding what you're looking for, but it won't be from me."

Not a second later, I heard a soft click before the line went dead.

Jaw slackened with shock, I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the blackened screen. How could something I'd planned so meticulously have gone so wrong?

I'd done everything I could think of—had stepped outside my comfort zone and taken the risks I needed to—yet it still wasn't enough.

I felt defeated. Trampled on. Because now I was just another woman with a dream. A dream that was, once again, hanging just out of reach.