Purpley Pop pressed a small purple gumdrop into the cottage owner's palm. She had counted her coins that morning, the same way she had counted them every week since losing the corner spot. This little lavender place was not that dream, but it had a door, a window, and a path where feet passed. She wanted a parlor where every visitor left smiling. She would start here. The owner chewed slowly. His eyebrows lifted. Purpley Pop offered a lollipop next, then promised a weekly box of sweets in place of rent. He laughed and shook her hand. The cottage was hers. Inside, she found a dusty pushcart leaning against the wall. She wiped it down, painted soft pastel flowers along its sides, and stitched a pink striped awning over the top. She filled it with bright wrapped candies, glass jars, and tiny bottles of syrup. She rolled the cart out the lavender door and parked it on the stone path. Above it she hung a wooden sign shaped like a gumdrop. A child slowed. Then a woman stopped. Purpley Pop's shop was open.