Entering the kitchen, I noted Wendy sitting at the table, munching on some buttered toast. It looked delicious, but it was bad for me.
A lifelong addiction to carbs and no self-control led to me gaining a lot of weight, which, in turn, snowballed into health problems and self-esteem issues. Which exacerbated my anxiety and led to, you guessed it, more eating.
I’d broken that cycle, but it was a daily struggle. I missed delicious things like toast and French fries. But you know what I liked even more? Getting up in the morning with knees that didn’t hurt and being able to shop anywhere I liked and finding clothes that fit.
I aimed for the coffee pot and poured a cup of coffee that I lightened with a dash of heavy cream. I took a gulp and sighed in satisfaction as the caffeine filled me. Morning just wasn’t right without it.
I turned and leaned against the counter as I sipped. Wendy browsed something on her phone as she ate her second piece of toast, this time dabbing a bit of jam on it.
“You working all day?” I asked.
“Mmhmm.” She swallowed before saying, “I have a dinner date right after, so don’t wait up for me.”
My daughter had gotten over the breakup that brought her to live with me and was seeing new people. Lucky. I’d yet to figure out who I was and what I wanted.
I want to get laid.
The thought hit, and I choked on my coffee, spraying it everywhere. As I heaved and hacked, with Wendy slamming me on the back, it occurred to me I’d never find someone interested in me romantically. I was a mess.
“You going to live?” my daughter asked as my attempt to drown myself with coffee failed.
“Barely,” I croaked.
She laughed. “There’s the spirit. You heading over to the shop?”
I nodded. “Although I told Marjorie I’d take over for her at the diner late afternoon so she and Trish can go out for dinner. It’s their six-month anniversary.”
“Good for them. We’ll have to remember to send them flowers when they hit their one year.” Her use of “we” never failed to warm me. Her tone turned uber casual as she said, “So, hey, remember how I was saying maybe your store needs to be multipurpose? My boss was telling me he knows a guy who knows a guy with a line on genuine healing crystals.”
“I thought we agreed no psychic stuff.”
“No, you decided. I still say you need to expand the scope of your offerings.”
Which thus far were antiques I had no use for that I’d found in the cottage. Funny how no matter how many I located and put aside, I still found more. According to Trish, it was the house providing me what I needed. Which was nuts. Houses didn’t just magically create stuff. It was just that the place was so cluttered we couldn’t keep track of it all. That made more sense.
“Come on, Winnie. Psychic crystals?” I couldn’t help the mom tone. “I can’t with good conscience sell something I don’t believe in.”
“You and your morals.” Winnie rolled her eyes and laughed. “I think you forgot to give me any, which is why if my date goes well you shouldn’t expect me back until really, really late.” My daughter bent down to kiss me on the cheek. “So feel free to have a guest over. Or two. Whatever floats your boat.”
My cheeks flamed. “Winnie! I would never.”
“Maybe you should. I hear the only thing better than two guys in bed is three.” Winnie winked as she sauntered out the door.
Whereas I shook my head and smiled. Our relationship had evolved since my separation with Martin. It was one of the highlights of being single again. My daughter was now talking to me. I’d even go so far as to say we were friends.
And apparently friends teased each other about their sex lives. Even nonexistent ones.
Before heading into town and my shop, I tidied the house. I parked in the alley around the back, but rather than enter the nondescript gray metal door, I headed to the front. There was something I enjoyed about entering like a customer would.
As I exited the alley for the sidewalk, I glanced across the street at the completed bookstore. It sported a vintage style, the owner having opted to stain its outdoor wood trim, giving it an old library feel. A banner hung in its window, stating in large letters: Open. I really needed to get my shop off the ground and quickly so I could take advantage of any traffic the bookstore managed to gather.
Turning away, I admired my own shop. The wood trim was freshly painted. I’d done my best to fill in the gouges beforehand with plaster. The two big windows, currently covered in paper, would showcase my wares. If we ever got foot traffic, attractive displays would draw them in. Winnie offered to take pictures for the internet. Something about setting me up with an online store and some business social media accounts.
First, I needed a functioning store. Stepping close, I dug into my pocket for the large metal key that fit into the very old lock. When I bought the place, I’d spent the first day scrubbing at the tarnished metal, bringing back its brassy shine. Not the most efficient use of my time, and yet it brought me pleasure. An antique store should have antique locks.
As I entered, the little bell strung to the door rang. Ding-a-ling. Winnie hated it, but I loved the sound. It made me nostalgic for a different time when life seemed less hectic. I knew I was being sentimental over something that probably never existed, but there was something about watching movies from those eras, a sense of class we didn’t see much of anymore.
The paint had dried since my last visit. As I walked around the shop, I ran my fingers over the fresh surface. A faint giddiness filled me. I could finally start to place items. It took some grunting and heaving to bring in the furniture to hold my wares.
The big bookcase was originally muscled in with Trish’s help. Alone I couldn’t exactly carry it, which was where the wool blanket I kept in my trunk came in handy. I leaned that bookcase up enough to shove the blanket under. Then leaned the other side to even out the fabric.
After that, it slid quite easily across the wood floors. I’d not been able to have them stained—too expensive—but I’d washed and oiled them. I heaved the bookcase into place and then tilted it again to pull out the blanket.
I’d done it. One done, tons more to go. Ugh.
I shoved the sweaty strands of hair out of my face. Rather than move the next big piece, I chose to bring a box of things over. The shelves were perfect for showcasing the fragile porcelain pieces I’d found, figurines and dishes. I sat a few items on some hand-crocheted lace doilies. The old linen tablecloths with matching napkins were folded into a large wicker basket and set beside the bookcase on the floor. At the bottom of a box, I found the very carefully wrapped china set. It would be perfect for the front window, currently covered in paper.
Glancing around and seeing the place looking like an actual store, I realized it was time. Time to reveal what I’d accomplished.
Grabbing a garbage bag, ammonia spray, and paper towel, I crawled into the bay window with its built-in shelf and began peeling off the paper covering. I had to stand to reach the highest pieces. As I stretched, my shirt tugged upwards, which was when a tap at the window drew my attention.
I glanced down from my perch to see an unwelcome—yet still handsome, damn him—face.
Kane. After getting drunk one night, I’d made out with him in a parking lot with no idea how I got there. Trish thought he cast a spell on me. I wondered if I’d experienced my first roofie.