Write about an item you (or a character) own that is not worth much money, but has great value to you.

My lips are chapped. Dried from the winter humidity. I grab my chap stick from my pocket and apply it with one hand before I dig into my pocket for my keys. 
The clothing boutique welcomes me with the scent of cinnamon and fresh citrus. It's the perfect aroma to soothe the shoppers into relaxing and wanting to stay, especially when it's cold out.
I run my hand across the crocheted scarf that drapes around the neck of one of my favorite displays, standing next to the door. It's so soft, I want to smother my face in the material. But I know someone will want to buy it, and I have no right putting my nose in their things.
The door closes behind me with a whoosh. The click of the lock resounds through the empty store as I re lock it. Don't want anyone wandering in unnoticed until I open in a half hour.
I scan the hangers as I enter, noticing my employee who closed up last night did an excellent job at making sure they are all evenly spaced. And the folded shirts are in a stacked pile even I couldn't try to remake. She's worth her weight in gold.
My clutch and cell phone tumble onto the antique counter top. I rub my hands together, trying to rewarm them before I start up the computer. There's a sticky note at the top of the computer screen. I recognize the print right away.
Last night's sales, it reads, followed by an amount. It's not bad, but not nearly as much as I dream of making someday. I have faith in this little store. My investment, not only of money, but also of time, will pay off.
The computer roars to life and I boot it up to do some quick sales reports before I do a store run through, making sure everything is in place. An email blinks in my inbox. It's from my son's school. I hope I haven't forgotten something.
My breath hitches as I read through it. He has a special presentation today, and I forgot to send him with his stuff.
I glance at the clock on the computer. I have twenty five minutes before opening. Biting my lip, I make a plan. If I hurry, I can make it home, get his project, then drop it off at the school, and rush back to the store. I will be a few minutes late, but who shops early on a frigid, Friday morning anyway?
 I lock the door behind me as I rush back outside. My lips scream against the wind. I've licked all my chap stick off, and now I'm paying for it. My chap stick is where I left it, in my pocket. I reapply as I jog down the block to the community parking lot.
The project is on the kitchen counter, right where I left and forgot it. I snatch it up, making sure I have all the pieces and papers that explain what it is.
The roads are slippery as I drive, and I have to take it slower than normal. I lick my lips in concentration. The clock on the dash keeps taunting my foot to push harder on the pedal to get us there faster. My grip tightens on the wheel as I lean forward in anticipation, but I keep a safe speed. Better late than never.
The school's secretary welcomes me with a huge smile. As I explain my crisis, she intercoms my son without hesitation and instructs me just to leave the project with her. I glance at it once, running my tongue across the front of my teeth. All those hours of research, painting, and making sure everything was perfect sits at my fingertips. Can I really trust her to make sure it doesn't get lost or taken by the wrong person? She reassures me with a warm smile. I'm out of time. And as much as I want to see my son and wish him luck, the clock keeps marching towards the next minute.
I decide to stay and wait. Even though I will be late for opening, I realize that my son is much more important that any sale I could make. The secretary takes my response in stride and points toward some chairs against the wall.
I shuffle to them and sit down. My leg keeps bouncing up and down with the tick of the clock. It's like I'm playing the trumpet in a band, keeping tempo as my heel touches the floor.
A few minutes later, my son rounds the corner. The relief on his face is worth the wait. He practically sprints the last few steps, collapsing into my arms.
"Thank you so much for bringing this, mom. I completely forgot it." His cheeks are flushed.
I run my fingers through his curls. "I forgot too. But it's here now. And you'll do great, just like we practiced."
He gives me a lopsided grin that brings out his dimples. "Thanks, mom."
I watch as he disappears down the hallway. Time to go.
I suck in my lips and bite down hard as I approach the storefront. There's two customers waiting. They appear to know each other by the easy conversation they're having. I rein in the urge to run towards them and worry my lips instead.
"Thank you for waiting." I apologize as I approach. They turn at my voice. "Forgot my son's project at home and had to go back to get it."
One lady waves my excuse away. "No worries. Been there. Done that. I'm just glad my kids are old enough to drive now so I don't have to take them every where."
The other lady laughs. "Agreed."
Their laughter warms the store. The lights reveal hard work. But nothing is as rewarding as the peace I feel in my chest. Peace that everything is going to be okay.
I smile at the customer's conversation as I get the music turned on. The gesture is painful. My bottom lip splits down the middle. I've done it again.
Grabbing my chap stick, I gloss on a generous coat. What would I do without it?