Saturday. The gang arrives at noon.
Leonard, Sheldon, Howard, Bernadette, Raj. All wearing lanyards.
"This is massive," Leonard says, staring at the booth.
"It's adequate," Sheldon corrects. "Though the spatial utilization could be optimized by 7.3% if you rotated the display cases counterclockwise."
"I'll get right on that."
Howard's taking pictures. "Dude. You're famous. There's a line."
"It's Comic-Con. Everyone has lines."
"Not like this."
He's right. The line for our booth wraps around two aisles.
Bernadette's watching Katie work the crowd. "She's really good at this."
"Natural saleswoman."
"Does she know comics or just—faking it?"
"Knows enough. I've been teaching her."
"That's adorable."
Raj approaches Katie. Talks for five minutes. Cos back grinning.
"She's delightful. And she reads Ms. Marvel now. Because you recomnded it."
"I rember."
"You found a keeper."
"Thanks, Raj."
Sheldon's analyzing the booth setup. Taking notes. "Your inventory placent follows the Golden Ratio. Did you do that deliberately?"
"I—what?"
"The Golden Ratio. 1.618:1. Your highest-value items are positioned at precisely that spatial relationship to your entrance. It's mathematically optimal for custor attention."
"I just put expensive stuff where people could see it."
"You intuitively discovered the Golden Ratio. Fascinating."
Saturday afternoon. I'm walking the dealer floor with Leonard.
We pass Emma Chen's booth again. She's between custors.
Makes eye contact. Smiles.
I smile back.
Keep walking.
"Who's that?" Leonard asks.
"Emma Chen. Comic artist."
"You know her?"
"Not really. Seen her work."
"She seems—interested."
"She's being friendly."
"That was more than friendly."
"Leonard."
"I'm just saying. If I didn't know Katie, I'd think—"
"Well, you do know Katie."
"Fair enough."
We keep walking. I don't look back.
But I want to.
Saturday evening. Soone recognizes .
"Hey! You did the retail panel!"
I turn. College kid. Maybe 22.
"Yeah, that was ."
"Dude. That was aweso. I'm opening a shop in Portland. Your advice about community events—ga-changer."
"Glad it helped."
"Can I get a photo?"
"Sure."
He takes a selfie with . Posts it imdiately. Tags my shops.
This happens four more tis walking back to the booth.
Katie finds it hilarious.
"You're Comic-Con famous now."
"It's weird."
"Welco to my world. Semi-recognition. Enough to be noticed, not enough to be mobbed."
"I don't love it."
"You get used to it."
Howard overhears. "Stuart's uncomfortable being famous. Never thought I'd see the day."
"I'm not famous. I gave one panel."
"And now randos want photos. That's fa, buddy."
Sunday afternoon. Final hours.
The booth's been stripped down. Most inventory sold. Display cases packed.
Final tally: $40,000 in sales over four days.
Jake's stunned. "That's—that's more than we make in a month at Pasadena."
"It's Comic-Con."
"No, it's you. Your reputation. Your connections. People ca here specifically for your booth."
"Team effort."
"Don't diminish it. This is huge."
Katie helps pack the last boxes. She's been here all four days. Never complained. Just—helped.
"Thank you," I tell her.
"For what?"
"Being here. Supporting this. You could've been networking at parties. Industry events. Instead you sold comics in a booth."
"I wanted to be here."
"Why?"
"Because this matters to you. And what matters to you matters to ."
She kisses . Quick. Simple.
"Plus, I made like eight new friends. Your custors are hilarious."
Driving back to LA. Sunday night. Katie's asleep in the passenger seat.
The convention was everything I hoped. Sales. Connections. Recognition.
My empire's legitimate now. Not just local shops. National presence.
Three years ago I was terrified of failure.
Now I'm—this.
Whatever this is.
My phone buzzes. Text from Wil Wheaton.
Wil: Incredible weekend. Your booth's already trending. You're officially industry.
: Thanks for the help.
Wil: That was all you, partner. See you in LA.
I check the rearview. Katie's still asleep.
Three months together. She fits. Supports my work. Understands demanding schedules.
But the mory tingle about Emma Chen lingers.
Not urgent. Not specific.
Just—there.
I push it aside. Focus on the highway. The drive ho.
Katie's here now.
That's what matters.
Right?
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