Chapter 4
Ange drummed on my door while I was still in my bathrobe and slightly damp from my shower. “Can I come in?”
I opened.
She beamed at me and hugged me so tight, I could barely breathe. “You’re like Wonder Woman and Aladdin rolled into one.”
It took me a few seconds to put two and two together. “You unwrapped the lamp.”
“I slept with it next to me, wrapped in a gazillion layers. The lamp, not me. I swaddled it like a baby.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I grabbed clean clothes and made for the bathroom to get dressed. “Go on talking, I can hear you.”
“That’s fine, I’ll see you at breakfast anyway. I just wanted to let you know how happy I am.”
I heard the door close behind her and high-fived myself.
At the antiques’ fair, we split up, so I could keep my appointment with Candice. I didn’t want her to think that I needed my friends as backup to deal with her.
She was already waiting, in a state of excitement, or was it a hint of agitation?
Did I now have to put her at ease and demonstrate that I was far from a woman scorned?
If anything, Candice had freed me up to live the life I was meant to live on my own terms (or Cosmo’s, but that was beside the point).
“Ready?” I asked. “Or do you need a cup of coffee first?”
“Whatever works for you. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.” She held a hand-written list. “I’ve earmarked half a dozen items, half for the home staging, and half for Rick and my – for the business.”
“Do you have pictures of the place you’re doing the staging for?”
Together, we scrolled through her photographs. They were enough to give me a good idea of the size and style, and what kind of buyers would be attracted to the home.
Candice had done her homework. The first item she showed me this morning was a large freestanding stone resin bathtub in matte black which would add a touch of luxury to outdoor patios too small for a hot tub.
The price was reasonable too. Next came a set of tub chairs and a vintage card table.
They needed a thorough clean and a few repairs, but nothing major.
A 1950s cocktail cabinet I nixed. Underneath the fresh coat of paint, I detected signs of woodworm.
The best find, one that I’d have been proud of myself, was a vintage chest in rosewood, with intricate carving on the lid.
I suspected it had once formed part of a dowry and held the complete linen for a household.
True, it had suffered a bit of damage. When I opened the lid, I noticed that the hinges needed replacing, and the woodwork needed some attention too.
Unusually, the sides were lined with fabric that had seen better days.
Yet it was a great piece of craftsmanship, and I could sense that there was a place already meant for it.
“What do you think?” Candice asked.
“I like it. The only issue is, you need a good restorer for the chairs, and card table, and for this chest. I used to do all this myself, so I don’t have a recommendation for you.”
She bit her lip. “That’s what I thought.
I was wondering, if maybe you’d take on the job?
I’m sure you’d give us a fair quote, and there’s nobody who comes even close to your talent.
” She sounded sincere, another point that made me look at her more favorable than I had since the day she officially blew up my marriage.
“You want me to restore the pieces?” I took a step back and bumped into the Mercedes owner, who apologized to me for my own oversight.
“I don’t know.” I ran my fingers over the chest. It felt warm and silky and comforting. “Okay. But you’ll have to have the items shipped to Bert’s Antiques’ Barn in Willowmere.”
Her face lit up. “Absolutely. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I left before I regretted my decision.
Harper and Reina had been inspecting vintage cocktail shakers and glassware two stalls away, but somehow managed to overhear the conversation. I assumed running a bar had honed that particular skill.
“You better watch out before you adopt the girl,” Harper said.
I shrugged. “Not likely, so don’t worry about me.”
“Good.” Reina linked arms with me. “Let’s go rein in Ange while my wife pays for our purchases. Last we saw her, she was checking out gardening equipment. A lot of it.”
We found Ange steering an ancient wheelbarrow in a circle. Spades and rakes with large wooden handles and two watering cans stood to one side, guarded by a young man with a ponytail and a green apron.
“This one handles really well,” Ange said. She put the wheelbarrow in front of me. “Give it a try.”
“I have all the equipment I need. I don’t even use half of it as it is,” I protested.
“Exactly. These could be just what you need, and apart from the wheelbarrow, there’s two of everything. Perfect, if you take gardening lessons from someone who knows what he’s doing, because identical equipment makes it much easier to get a similar experience.” She grinned at me.
“I’m not –” I looked at the young man and pulled Ange aside. “If you mean Sam, he’s just a friend and I don’t intend to try a spot of couple’s gardening to romance him.”
“Did I say that? All I’m saying is, your yard cries out for love and attention, and these things might help you. Also, it can’t be easy to run into your ex-husband’s fiancée and, according to Reina, end up doing her favors five minutes later.”
Both statements were true to a certain extent.
My yard was a mess, and the fact that among other still unfolding talents I had the makings of a garden witch was no good.
I could make plants grow like crazy, but thanks to my lack of knowledge that was exactly what happened if I tried a spell.
I’d be able to cover Sleeping Beauty’s castle not just in roses, but in a jungle faster than you could say fairytale.
And running into Candice might have stirred up insecurities, except that I was done with the old Bex Merriweather, the one before my divorce. The new me could handle encounters, especially when they became normal business transactions. I’d do my job, and then I’d send my invoice. End of story.
When I told Ange exactly that, she shushed me.
I gaped at her in confusion, until she motioned me to turn around.
Squeezed into a corner stood Candice. Her face was flushed as a man tenderly ran his hand through her hair.
“Trouble in paradise?” Ange whispered.
I had no time for a reply, because Candice pushed the man away, or at least she tried to.
Without hesitation, I swerved past the wheelbarrow, to come to Candice’s aid, but I didn’t need to. The man let her go. I saw his face as she stalked off, half fuming and half sobbing. It was Corvette guy.
Ange, who popped up beside me, saw him too. “Isn’t that Tim Boyd? I didn’t recognize him yesterday, but this whole raking through hair is his signature gesture. He thinks he’s the cream of the crop, with a cherry on top.”
Usually, Ange’s peculiar expressions brought a smile to my face. Now, I was too worried. Candice had been genuinely upset.
Ange continued. “I thought he was hot and heavy with the henna artist in the new tattoo parlor.”
“In Willowmere? I haven’t met either of them.” I admitted. Although it seemed that Candice had, begging the question when that had happened.
“You need to get out more, then you'll soon be in the loop with all the gossip again.” She steered me back to the gardening equipment. “Yes or no?”