Chapter 9 #2
“Oh, it is. I know because I’m losing,” I said bitterly. Ugh, the Wyatt Knox curse struck again. Why was I sharing all my insecurities with him? “How do you do it?” I asked after a beat.
“Do what?”
“Get me to say more than I mean to. I don’t get it.”
“It’s because you’re not worried about impressing me,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Hmm...” I considered what he said. It was true. I had let my guard down around Wyatt because I never thought of him as a prospective boyfriend. But it was more than that. He made me feel safe.
“You might be right,” I finally said.
“I know I am.” Did he sound a little hurt?
“Poor Wyatt. You can’t have all the girls in love with you.”
“You say such amusing things.” He chuckled. “You sell yourself short. Charlie didn’t get all the charm in the family.”
The funny thing was that when I was with Wyatt, I did feel charming. Or at least I found it easy to flirt and banter.
“Tell me what cars you’re hoping to buy?” I asked.
He broke out into a huge grin.
“There’s a vintage Jag and Alpha Romeo and a 1976 Triumph.”
“I’m guessing by the look on your face that these are rare finds.”
“To find one would be huge, but all three! I cannot believe my luck.”
“Aren’t you worried someone else will buy them?”
“Nope.” Wyatt’s eyes twinkled and his lips twitched as he tried his best not to smile.
“What are you not telling me? Wyatt? Wait! Have you already been to this estate sale?”
“I was the first one there this morning.”
“Of course you were. So you’ve seen the dresses?” He nodded. I felt a slight flutter of excitement. He had lied to me because he wanted to spend time with me. Maybe he really did like my prickles. Weirdo.
“Yes... and some women were raving about them. That’s why I texted.”
“That was... I can’t even. That was really thoughtful.” Maybe my mom was right. Maybe I shouldn’t completely discount him.
We parked on a long driveway leading to the rambling Mediterranean home surrounded by oak trees.
Entering the house felt like walking back in time.
Decorated in the height of the Kennedy era, the main entrance had a curving grand staircase and a crystal chandelier.
Items ranging from mini dresses to evening gowns hung from the gold-leaf railings.
I speed-walked ahead of Wyatt to get a closer look at the clothing from the 1960s, ’70s, ’80s, and early ’90s.
They were in pristine condition. Many looked like they had never been worn.
I saw tags for Chanel, Dior, Versace, McQueen, Herrera.
My heart fell when I noticed a red “SOLD” tag pinned to most of the gowns.
I stopped a woman walking by with a clipboard. “Are all of these dresses taken?” I asked, not bothering to hide my disappointment.
“Yes, to that nice young man over there.” She pointed to Wyatt, who was talking to another guy about our age.
“Thank you! That’s the best news,” I said with giddy relief. I hoped he hadn’t paid too much and that I could afford to pay him back.
I crossed the gold shag rug to where he stood. “Wyatt! How dare you?”
“Dare I what?” he asked.
“You bought the dresses and didn’t tell me. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the Sold sign.”
“Was buying them the right call?” he asked, a little anxious.
“Yes! Absolutely!”
“Good.” He gave me an impish smile and put his hands in his pockets, the epitome of nonchalance, except for an intensity in his eyes.
Curse Wyatt Knox. Why was he so damn thoughtful? And hot?
“I might have some other items you’d be interested in,” said the man Wyatt had been talking to.
“Right, let me make introductions,” Wyatt said. “Caroline, this Edward Frechette, the grandson of Reginald Norland, who owned this estate. Ed, this is Caroline, the stylist I was telling you about.”
“A genuine pleasure,” said Edward as he put out his hand for me to shake.
He was dressed impeccably in sand-colored linen trousers and a white dress shirt with a subtle gray pattern.
His bourbon-hued leather belt perfectly matched his Italian shoes.
I was so in awe of his sartorial magnificence that it took me a moment to register that he was also fairly good-looking, though in an understated way, not Wyatt’s obnoxious in-your-face handsome.
Edward had light brown hair, gray eyes, and an intelligent face.
“Thank you. I’m excited to take a look at the clothes Wyatt acquired for me. Did they belong to your grandma?”
“Ah, yes... and a series of step-grandmothers,” he clarified. “I suspect a few items belonged to my mom.”
“And she’s okay with you selling them.”
“She won’t go naked,” he said dryly. I quickly realized my mistake. His sleeves were expertly rolled up just below the elbow, showcasing a vintage Rolex. This family had plenty of money. His mom was not going to miss the old evening gowns she left at her parents’ home.
“Of course,” I said.
“There are shoes, too,” Edward added, “that you might want to look at.”
“There’s no might about that.” Vintage shoes tended to fall apart, but considering the wide array of dresses, it seemed likely that there would be some gems for sale. “I’d love to see them. In what sizes?”
“A variety, I imagine, since my grandpa had five wives.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Four too many if you ask me,” said Edward.
My eyes darted to his left hand, no ring.
I couldn’t help but look. This Edward was the personification of California Royal.
Who dresses that nicely on a Saturday afternoon?
Me and Edward, that’s who. To my dismay, Wyatt caught me making the ring check.
He gave me that all-knowing look of his, the one that said I see right through you, Caroline Bingham. I shrugged.
“Ed!” A woman with a clipboard approached. “Can we negotiate on the price of the heirloom Christmas ornaments?”
“Perhaps; let me call my mom.” He turned to us. “I need to take care of this. You’ll find the shoes in there.” He pointed to an empty study to the side of the grand entry.
The room had floor-to-ceiling cherry wood shelves, but instead of books, they were filled with shoes and handbags. It was the library of my dreams.
“Anything good?” Wyatt asked.
“Only I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I said dreamily as I climbed up a rolling ladder to get a better look at a handbag on a higher shelf. “Do you think he has any idea what he has here?” I asked, examining a pristine Louis Vuitton handbag.
“I’d guess Mr. Frechette is so rich he doesn’t mind being underpaid on some old shoes and rusty cars.”
“Can you even imagine?” I said wistfully as I returned the handbag on the shelf.
“No, I can’t.” Wyatt’s tone had turned cooler. Had I offended him?
“Thanks for thinking of me. Wyatt, this is amazing. I will definitely pay you back. But I’m so glad you bought all those dresses before anyone else could. This calls for a celebration. I’m officially upgrading you to the friend zone.”
“Ah! Being moved to the friend zone,” he said dryly. “Every guy’s dream.”
I hardly registered what he was saying. I had just made an amazing discovery.
A pristine petal pink leather handbag. I examined it closely.
Be still, my beating heart! It was exactly what I thought it was.
A Birkin circa 1993. I hugged it to my chest. And then scrambled down the ladder and flung my arms around him. Wyatt looked surprised but not unhappy.
“What is this for?” he asked, smiling down at me.
“I found a Birkin!”
“I have no clue what you are talking about. But hooray! Looks like it was a good day for both of us.”
“I’ve wanted one for years.” Our arms were still around each other. Neither of us moved.
“Me too,” he said, which made no sense at all, but also kind of did. He placed his warm hand on my back and pulled me in closer.
I looked into his eyes and thought about how comforting the color brown could be. His eyes made me think of chocolate cake, the fur on a teddy bear, a worn leather chair, the bliss of a long sleep.
One hand moved to the back of my head. His fingers on my hair made my blood fizz.
I leaned toward him as he swayed toward me.
My eyes fluttered shut. I wasn’t thinking about suitability.
All I could think was, he had better kiss me.
At that moment, I wanted Wyatt Knox to kiss me more than anything in the world .
His warm, sweet breath hovered over my lips.
I breathed it in, anticipating his touch.
CLICK! Someone turned the doorknob. We leapt apart. By the time Edward Frechette entered the room, I had picked up the pink Birkin, and Wyatt had slumped into a worn leather club chair, his eyes on his phone.
“I’m glad I caught you.” Wyatt smirked at Ed’s word choice. But our host seemed so relaxed, I was confident he didn’t see us almost kiss. “Did you find anything you like?” Edward asked.
“Yes, it’s a treasure trove,” I answered.
“Wonderful!” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s late in the day. I’ve decided to lower the price on everything in this room. I’ll give it all to you for 50 percent off. You can buy the items individually or the whole lot for a lump sum, of say $5,000?”
“Oh, that’s...” I was about to say “not enough,” but Wyatt’s eyes caught mine. He gave me the slightest head shake. “That’s... that’s so generous,” I amended.
“So you’ll take it?” asked Edward.
“Yes, yes. I want it all.”
“Great! I’ll get Candace to help you pack it up.
I’ll be right back.” As fast as he had appeared, Edward vacated the room.
I was grateful for his interruption. Sure, I had wanted Wyatt to kiss me, but I didn’t know if that was a good idea.
After Greg, I was determined to be led by my head instead of my hormones.
“Are you certain I shouldn’t tell him to charge me more?” I asked Wyatt. “I feel like I’m stealing from him.”
“You can if you want it,” he said. “But he knows he’s giving you a deal.”
“Really?”
“I offered him $10,000 to buy this stuff in the morning, and he refused.”
“Wow! That’s very... very flattering.” I held the Birkin back and admired it, wondering if I should keep it for myself. I’ve always wanted one. But then again, I could do a lot with the $30,000 I could get selling it.
“Mark my words,” Wyatt said, “Ed’s going to ask you out.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked my voice too high.
“When you were admiring the dresses, he asked me if you were dating anyone.” He raised a thick, dark, perfect brow at me. I wondered idly if he brushed them or shaped them in any way. I had the strangest urge to run my thumb across one.
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
“I didn’t answer. You interrupted us. What should I say, Caroline?
” What did I want him to say? I didn’t want to date Wyatt—that was crazy talk.
Then again, just minutes before, I had really wanted him to kiss me.
But that was just momentary insanity, brought on by the excitement of finding a Birkin, right?
I wanted... I wanted... I had no idea what I wanted.
Wyatt’s brown eyes rested on me. Were they sad, or did I just want them to be? “It’s a pretty easy question, Caroline. Are you dating anyone? Are you interested in dating anyone?” He then added, “This would be an ideal time for your typical honesty.”
I couldn’t be honest because all I could think to say was, “I don’t want to date Edward. I want to date you.” But that would be foolish. I couldn’t risk losing my heart to another guy with commitment issues.
“Um... I don’t know... He seems like a nice guy,” I said half-heartedly. Wyatt’s expression was as cool and relaxed as ever. I found myself ridiculously disappointed by his lack of disappointment.
“So it’s chill if I give him your number and tell him you’re single and ready to mingle.
” He said this so flippantly that I felt sick with relief because I had been this close to saying, “What do you think about us... dating?” If he was happy to see me date someone else, then that almost kiss meant nothing.
The little butterflies in my heart curled up and died.