Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
A ndie’s phone pinged with a text. It was Jane wanting to know if she was free for a girls’ night out on Thursday. Of course she was!
Warmth bloomed in her chest at the invitation. She hadn’t always been this close with her sister; in fact, there had been a time when they’d only spoken on holidays. Moving back to Lobster Bay was the best decision Andie had ever made, and now her life was perfect. She had her friends and even had reconnected with the love of her life, Shane Flannery.
She loved that she, Jane, Maxi, and Claire had formed a friendship bond. She hadn’t had close friends when she’d lived in the city, and she cherished their frequent get-togethers. Usually, they met at Sandcastles for coffee a few times a week. In the summer, they liked to go to Splash after work since it was right on the beach, but it was too cold for that now. So they’d moved to Barnacle Billy’s in Perkins Cove, where they could watch the boats in the cove.
Her fingers tapped out a jubilant “Yes!” on the screen before returning her phone to the counter and picking up the feather duster she’d been using to dust off the antiques in her store.
Amid the charm of weathered cabinets and glass-fronted display cases, Andie’s antique store was a treasure trove of history and beauty. From vintage jewelry to midcentury furniture, the store was a testament to Andie’s keen eye for unique finds. The polished hardwood floors gave off a warm, inviting glow, and the overhead track lighting was strategically aimed to showcase the best pieces. Antique chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the space with a soft, welcoming light.
Customers often felt like they were stepping back in time, and today was no different. A few were scattered throughout the store, their eyes wide with curiosity as they rifled through crates of vinyl records or examined ornate picture frames. A faint scent of aged wood and polish filled the air, adding to the nostalgia.
A customer approached the register, holding a delicately painted vase adorned with intricate floral patterns and a crackled glaze. It was one of Andie’s favorite pieces, and she had almost hesitated to sell it.
“Isn’t this just beautiful?” the customer remarked, setting the vase on the counter.
“It is,” Andie agreed, her eyes meeting the customer’s as she began wrapping the vase carefully in protective tissue. “It’s a special piece—nineteenth-century French porcelain. You have excellent taste.”
The customer beamed, clearly pleased with her find. Andie processed the payment, handed over the bag containing the vase, and bid her customer a cheerful goodbye.
Andie picked up the duster again and started cleaning an antique slag glass lamp that sat atop a vintage writing desk. The lamp’s intricate metalwork and colorful, marbled glass had caught her eye at an estate sale months ago. As she moved the duster in gentle circles, her eyes wandered to a pair of old trunks tucked away in the corner of the store.
Those trunks had come from the attic of a stately home, hidden so well among cobwebs and old furniture that most people had missed them. Andie had only had the chance for a cursory look inside each, but the initial peek had revealed a tantalizing glimpse of old books, tarnished jewelry, and fabric that might’ve been clothing or linens from decades—maybe even centuries—past.
The customer who had been browsing in the back had made her way out the door, and finally, Andie was alone in the store.
“No time like the present,” she thought, setting aside the duster and hurrying over to the trunks.
With a sense of expectation tingling at the back of her mind, she pulled one of the trunks closer to a cushioned chair meant for customers to take a load off while contemplating a potential purchase. She unbuckled the rusted latch, its creaking sound accompanied by a puff of dust that spoke of long-kept secrets.
As the lid swung open, a musty but not unpleasant odor wafted up—a mixture of aged leather, wood, and the indefinable scent of old things long stored away. It felt as if she was about to open a time capsule. Her fingers tingled with anticipation as she considered the untold stories that might be hidden within.
Andie could hardly wait to explore the contents. As she began to carefully lift out the topmost items—a couple of old books and what appeared to be a hand-embroidered shawl—she felt a rush of excitement.
Digging deeper into the trunk, Andie uncovered a porcelain figurine of a ballerina, one arm gracefully stretched above her head, though her tutu was chipped at the edges. Next, she found a small tin box filled with vintage postcards, the faded images capturing long-gone landscapes and landmarks.
But as she moved these items aside, she noticed something incongruous with the other treasures. Tossed haphazardly at the bottom were what appeared to be Christmas decorations. Garland, plastic mistletoe. Some ornaments had been placed there without much care, and sadly, a few were smashed, their shattered pieces intermingling with strands of tarnished tinsel.
And there, partially buried by a broken ornament and a sprig of artificial mistletoe, was a sad little present. It was still wrapped in yellowing paper that must’ve once been vibrant and cheerful. A frayed ribbon barely held its bow together. A tiny tag dangled from it, the ink faded but still legible. It read, “To Urchin.”
Urchin? Was that a nickname? Andie couldn’t help but wonder who it was and why this gift had never found its way into their hands. A sense of melancholy washed over her as she considered the countless possible stories behind this unopened gift.
As she looked at the tag, she felt an inexplicable connection to its intended recipient, a responsibility to try to find out who it belonged to. And she knew exactly who she could ask to help.