Chapter Ten #6
“They are so cool,” I said. “Low to the ground, full body armor, and a mace-tail. It’s a complete weapon. Like the most Pokémon dinosaur ever.”
Deacon’s eyes met mine then, his smile softening. “Exactly.” His cheeks went pink and he quickly looked away. “The Kosmoceratops is my second favorite.”
I nodded. “A commendable choice. I do like the Kosmoceratops also. I mean, what’s not to like about fifteen spiky horns? If I had to choose a second one—” I stopped talking when I realized then that Wayne and Vicky were still watching us. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Wayne said.
Vicky stood up and began to clear plates, and I immediately tried to help. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, stopping me, before nodding to the living room. “You boys want to go in. Your show’s about to start.”
Our show?
Deacon stood up. “Thank you for dinner, Mom.”
I stood up next to him. “Yes, thank you so much. It was delicious. All of it.”
She waved us off, though her smile told me she appreciated the compliment. “You go along now. Wayne, you’re washing up.”
He protested. “But our show—” She gave him a look that promptly shut him up. “I will be the fastest dishwasher ever,” he mumbled.
Deacon laughed, and taking my sleeve again, he led me toward the living room and what I saw took my breath away.
There was a dark green velvet three-seater sofa and two mismatched single chairs which, with my very limited knowledge of furniture, looked like antique designer pieces: tan leather, well-loved.
There was a lovely fireplace, a smallish television by today’s standards, a gorgeous Christmas tree that smelled wonderful, and . . .
Oh my.
One entire wall was a bookcase, stacked full of, well, everything. All genres, all kinds—paperbacks, hardcovers, new, old, fiction, non-fiction, magazines, journals, encyclopedias—all neatly arranged and oh so amazing.
“Do you like it?” Deacon asked quietly.
I turned to him, eyes as wide as my smile. “Oh, I could live in this room. Everything in it is perfect. When you said your family were readers,” I said, taking in the bookshelves. “Wow. You have more books than my store.”
Deacon laughed. “Not quite.”
Okay, so maybe not. But damn. Not far off . . .
“Both Mom and Dad love to read also. We always have. Even as a young boy, I don’t remember a time when we didn’t sit in here and read.”
I put my hand to my heart. “I love that so much.” I looked around the room again.
Given the books, and the small TV, it was clear that watching television wasn’t a priority for them, and I loved that too.
And the lamps by the sofa and the chairs, for reading, of course.
“This room is perfect. It feels like a reading den in a fancy castle or something.”
He looked around for a moment. “Minus the stone walls, vaulted ceilings, and the general size.”
I laughed at that. “Well, yes, all that. But I don’t know, this is the kind of living room I want.
It’s giving me great decoration ideas for my room.
Maybe I could decorate my bedroom like this.
It’s a very blank canvas at the moment. The whole house is, really.
It needs some work. But everything about this room is perfect. ”
“You’d like to decorate like this?”
I nodded. “Yes. Like a fancy reading den in a castle or something. Minus the stone walls, vaulted ceilings, and general size.”
His eyes met mine, and seeing that I was joking, he smiled back at me.
Damn, if it didn’t make my heart thump.
What was I talking about? Oh, that’s right . . .
“Ro is doing some remodeling at our place. It was an old ranch cottage or something. It’s super cute, don’t get me wrong, and I love it.
But my room is just blank, white walls. And boxes .
. . I’ve been so busy with the store. I’m mostly unpacked, save a few last things.
But I’m definitely going to need some floor-to-ceiling bookcases and an amazing chair by the window, reading lamps. ”
“Would you get sick of looking at books? All day at work, then in your room as well.”
I looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Never.”
He grinned. “I didn’t think so.”
“You’ll have to come around sometime,” I offered, trying to play it cool. “I’ll return the dinner favor. You can see Merry and Bright and how playful they are now. They’re just the cutest little demons ever.”
Deacon smiled at me, his eyes on mine in that intense way he could just stare right into me.
“Has the show started?” Wayne called out from the kitchen.
Oh.
Yes, that’s what we were doing.
Deacon picked up the remote control and aimed it at the TV then he sat down on the sofa. It was a three-seater so I assumed I was to join him. I gestured to the seat beside him. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
There was a sponsorship break on the TV, so I was still clueless. “Uh, what show are we watching?”
“Antiques Roadshow,” he replied. “It’s our thing. If you’d rather not watch, if you think it’s silly . . .”
“Are you kidding?” I asked. “I love that you watch Antiques Roadshow. This sounds like so much fun.”
Wayne came in just as the intro music began and he sat in the chair closest to the bookcases. “Ah, good, haven’t missed anything yet.”
Of course, Mildred followed him in and she came trotting over to me, snuffling loudly. I pet her head and earned myself a wag of her stumpy little tail.
“She likes you,” Deacon said quietly.
Not gonna lie. It was an awesome feeling when someone’s dog or cat liked you. But I totally downplayed it. “She can probably smell the kittens on me.”
The TV show began and soon Vicky came in and sat in her chair, and I honestly loved the fact that this was a thing their family did. I hadn’t seen Antiques Roadshow in years and this was the English version, which was even better.
The first item was a brooch in the shape of a bird. It had diamonds and sapphires and rubies.
“1920s,” Wayne said. “French. ￡3,000.”
“Late nineteen-hundreds,” Deacon said. “English. ￡4,000.”
I laughed because, oh my god, this was fun.
“Uh,” I hedged. “1820s, Russian, ￡5,000. That’s a lot of diamonds.”
Deacon grinned at me, and when the expert announced the date and value, I was right.
“Oh my god,” I said. “I guessed that correctly? I love this game!”
“Beginner’s luck,” Wayne said with a smile.
The next item was an embroidered box with little gold feet. It looked old as hell. Or maybe just well-used? I had no clue.
“Oooh,” Wayne said. “1850s, French, ￡800.”
“1880s,” Deacon said. “Italian. ￡1,000.”
“Hmm,” Vicky said, studying the screen. “I’ll say 1780s, English. ￡3,000.”
“I have no clue,” I said. “But I’ll go 1910, ￡500.”
I couldn’t have been more wrong, and Wayne got it right.
The next item was a pale-yellow Chinese vase, maybe eight inches tall, that the owner had found in a thrift shop.
“Ming dynasty,” Deacon said quickly. “￡10,000.”
“What?” I said. “That little thing?”
Wayne gave a nod. “I’ll say ￡20,000. If it’s real. If it’s a replica, eighty quid.”
Jeebus.
“That yellow is for the emperor,” Deacon explained. “It was replicated a lot.”
“Okay,” I said, then totally guessed. “Fake, 1920s replica. ￡30.”
And it was actually a Ming vase. Ming freaking dynasty. It was legit, and it was estimated to be worth ￡20,000.
I was stunned.
Then a painting worth a thousand pounds, then a plate worth one hundred pounds, then a signed autograph of some English cricketer I’d never heard of. I got none of them right, but it was so much fun. Wayne was leading by one and although it was all in good fun, they did take it seriously.
The next item were silver model planes, and before the expert or owner could even speak, Deacon said, “Tomcat V-F2, F22 Raptor, Supermarine Spitfire, Lockheed Martin SR-72.”
Then he went on to describe each plane model, specs, and all kinds of things I couldn’t understand.
I stared at him. “Objection, your honor,” I said. “Unfair advantage.”
The way he laughed filled me with something warm and lovely.
Wayne groaned because it meant it was now tied between them, but even I could see how much he liked seeing Deacon laugh. I also noticed how Vicky smiled at him, watching us.
“Last one is always a doozy,” Wayne said.
And it was.
A painting on wood paneling from an old hotel, built in the 1400s, which was incredible to me.
They’d found it when doing renovations and it was as if they’d removed the whole panel to bring it in.
It was dark, grungy, and their faces were weird with gold plates behind their heads, which I assumed were supposed to be halos, or aliens .
. . It could have gone either way, honestly.
“￡10,000,” Wayne declared.
“￡35,000,” Deacon said.
I’d have better luck throwing a dart at a number than guess. “Uh . . . ￡80,000?” They seemed to just give randomly large amounts at will on this show.
“Built in the 1400s,” I mumbled, flabbergasted. “That’s . . . that’s two whole centuries before Shakespeare. Three hundred years before this country.” All I could do was shake my head in wonder. “It’s hard to imagine.”
Deacon gave me a nod. “It is remarkable.”
“Can you imagine who’s seen it, who’s touched it? What kind of life they lived?” I wondered out loud. “How fascinating.”
His eyes met mine and he didn’t look away. “Yes. I think the same thing. With any object of a significant age. Who made it, the hands which held it, shaped it, built it, or painted it.”
“And the Ming dynasty,” I said, still struggling to believe it. “And how it ended up in England all these centuries later. In a thrift shop, of all places.”
Deacon made a face. “Items of significance like that should be given back to their country of origin. The experts will quite often say things like that may have been bought or traded back in the fifteenth century, but it’s more likely they were stolen or looted.
A vase from 1410, imperial at that, should rightly be in a museum in China. ”