Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
‘I mean, we actually sold the duck.’ Fern let out a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.
Daniel grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. ‘And a porcelain potty; that’s an achievement in itself.’
‘Sales are now over forty quid. Isn’t social media just the best?
Instead of waiting for customers to walk through the door, we’re bringing what we have to them.
’ Fern had immensely enjoyed her evening; in fact, she’d not had this much fun in ages.
She turned her phone towards Daniel, displaying the long thread of comments beneath their post. People had been fascinated, entertained and, more importantly, ready to buy.
‘I’m still not over the fact someone actually paid money for it.’ She tapped her screen, scrolling. ‘And look! We’ve got bids on the set of haunted spoons and the Victorian-era wig stand.’
Daniel smirked. ‘Let’s be honest, that wig stand is nightmare fuel. I wouldn’t keep it in this flat if you paid me.’
Fern arched a brow at him. ‘This from the man who sleeps beneath a moose’s head?’
He shrugged. ‘Me and that moose have an understanding.’
Rolling her eyes, Fern returned her attention to the phone. The thrill of selling eccentric antiques had turned into something of an addiction. She refreshed the page, anticipation buzzing in her veins. Then…
‘Oh my God,’ she gasped, sitting up so quickly the phone nearly flew from her hands. ‘Daniel, it just sold!’
He bolted upright. ‘What?’
‘The wig stand! Someone just bought it!’
There was a brief, stunned silence before they both erupted into wild laughter. It was ridiculous, absurd, and yet the exhilaration was real. Without thinking, Fern launched herself at Daniel, knocking him back against the pillows as she wrapped her arms around him in pure, unfiltered excitement.
‘We did it!’ she squealed, her face buried in his shoulder as she hugged him. ‘We actually did it! Sales are now at one hundred pounds.’
Daniel’s laugh was warm against her ear as he held onto her. ‘I take full credit. It was all my excellent salesmanship.’
She pulled back, grinning down at him. ‘You take credit? I’m the one who came up with the idea!’
‘Yeah, but I’m the one who convinced everyone it had historical charm rather than genuinely terrifying presence.’
Fern let out another laugh, still beaming, still too caught up in the moment. Her eyes flickered over Daniel’s face, the teasing glint in his gaze, the way his mouth curled at the corners. Before she could even think, before she could stop herself, she kissed him.
It was quick, instinctual. A press of lips in the heat of the moment.
But then she felt it, the solid warmth of him beneath her, the way he inhaled sharply in surprise, and worse – so much worse – she caught the intoxicating scent of his aftershave, which was dark and rich, like cedarwood and spice, and wrapped around her senses, making her stomach flip.
She froze.
‘Sorry, I’ve had too much wine,’ she apologised.
He didn’t say anything. Their faces were still inches apart, eyes locked. His lips were slightly parted, his breath warm against hers, and she knew, knew, that she should move. Pull away. Laugh it off. But she didn’t.
Instead, she felt the way his hands tightened slightly on her waist, how his gaze flickered to her mouth, how something unspoken but heavy crackled between them.
Then … he kissed her back.
It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. It was all-consuming. One moment of hesitation, and then a firestorm. His fingers tangled in her hair, his other hand sliding to the small of her back, pulling her against him. Her hands gripped his T-shirt as their lips moved hungrily against each other.
It was a blur of heat and pressure, of shifting bodies and tangled limbs.
Her body pressed closer to his, and he groaned softly against her lips when she ran her hands through his hair.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice reminded her that this was a terrible idea.
That she would be selling the shop from underneath him and heading back to London as soon as possible …
that this could go horribly, spectacularly wrong.
But she didn’t want to think about that right at this moment.
Not when his lips found the curve of her neck, not when his hands skimmed over her waist, not when every nerve in her body felt electrified by his touch.
‘Fern…’ Daniel’s voice was husky, low, a plea and a promise all in one.
She shivered. ‘Yeah?’
His forehead rested against hers as they both tried to catch their breath. ‘Tell me this isn’t just because we sold a haunted wig stand.’
She let out a laugh, still half-dazed. ‘I mean … it was a really big moment for us.’
He chuckled, but his grip on her didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. ‘Be serious.’
She watched him. ‘It’s not just that.’
His lips brushed against hers again, softer this time, slower. Like he was savouring every second. ‘Good,’ he murmured.
Fern swallowed, her heart pounding. ‘You know this changes everything, right?’
Daniel exhaled, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against her hip. ‘Yeah. I know.’
Then, just as quickly as it had happened, reality crashed back in.
She was lying on top of Daniel. In his bed. The bed that, only a few days ago, she had sworn was too ridiculous for her to sleep in. They were tangled together in a way that felt so intimate, so natural, and yet entirely inevitable.
She swallowed hard. ‘So, uh … what now?’
Daniel smirked. ‘I vote we sell more weird antiques.’
She rolled her eyes, but the warmth of his hands on her waist made it hard to be exasperated. ‘That’s your big takeaway from all this?’
‘Well,’ he mused, fingers brushing idly over the curve of her back, ‘that, and the fact that we’re both terrible at pretending we don’t want to do this again.’
She swallowed. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He tilted his head, his lips barely brushing hers again. ‘Unless you’d rather pretend this never happened?’
She thought about it for all of two seconds before shaking her head. ‘Not a chance.’
Daniel grinned. ‘Good.’ He kissed her again.