Chapter Two
Grayson
“They’re vintage,” I say, holding the binoculars like I did when I was a kid. “Pre-World War II.”
The guy across from me snorts as he tugs his jeans up higher. “They’re scratched, and the strap smells like Bengay.”
I glance down. Okay, the leather’s cracked, and the lenses could use a cleaning, but they’re still worth more than the fifty bucks he’s offering. “They’re worth at least a thousand.”
The man wearing a baseball cap shrugs as though nothing means anything, then mutters something about bullshit and wanders down the hall toward the bookshelf in the back.
“We’re not going to sell anything talking to people like that.” My aunt hands me a cup of coffee and motions for me to sit with her in the living room. I can’t fathom relaxing right now, but I’m here to support her, so I do as she’s asked and sit.
“You okay?” she asks, leaning back in her recliner across from me as though the front door isn’t open, and strangers aren’t walking around deciding what everything my uncle owned is worth. “You seem on edge.”
“Is it that obvious?”
She grins and pushes back a strand of silver hair. “A little.”
“I just want you to get the best deals, and these morons just think they can walk in here and steal things.”
She takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes on mine. “This isn’t about the money, sweetheart.”
“It should be! Uncle Pat still has receipts in his desk from the forties. He wanted to make sure he got the value of things.” I tilt my head. “He’d want to know you got the value of his things.”
I glance toward the hallway where a young couple laughs too loudly over a stack of vinyls. I want these people gone, every single one of them.
“You’re right. He’d have wanted me to squeeze every cent possible out of these folks, but…
he’s not here.” She sets her coffee down on the table beside her chair and leans forward, pushing her round glasses up onto her face.
“He’s not here, and I want his things to go to folks who’ll appreciate them. The money is secondary.”
I nod, but it’s stiff. I’m not bad at letting go, I let go of all kinds of things, but coming to the realization that my uncle, the man who raised me, the man who chose me when no one else would, is gone…
that’s something I don’t know how to contend with yet.
“I just hate watching people paw through it all like it’s junk,” I say, my voice low.
“These things mean something. Like those binoculars, he had them out in the field when we were hunting together. That vinyl those kids are laughing at, he liked playing it when he had his coffee in the morning.”
She smiles, soft and sadly. “You’re grieving. Maybe you weren’t ready for this. I can handle the rest of the day.”
“No,” I stand and flatten my shoulders, “I can handle this. If anything, you should be resting. I hear the objective. Sell everything.”
“The objective is to move on, sweetheart.” My aunt stands from the chair opposite me and shuffles in for a hug, landing her fragile frame against my chest with a sigh. “Life moves on.”
I hear what she’s saying, and I nod in support, but for some reason my brain doesn’t want to comprehend the truth of it.
She pulls back from the hug and stares up at me, blue eyes shining in the afternoon light filtering in through the shades.
“You know that he’s a part of you, right?
You act just like him.” A grin cracks through the grief.
“You’re stubborn, you never ask for help, and your emotions sit behind your ribs under lock and key.
Knowing he lives on in you gives me comfort.
” The corner of her mouth lifts into half a smile.
“And the truth is, deep down, the both of you would do anything to protect the people you love.”
“Wow,” I cross my arms over my chest in jest, “that’s quite the picture you painted. I sound like a real catch.”
“I think so. I fell for your uncle, didn’t I?”
I laugh under my breath and squeeze my aunt’s hand. “That’s because you’re unique, Aunt Vera. Not everyone has your palate for bitterness.”
“See… there you go again with the self-loathing. You just have to put yourself out there and meet someone. The right person will come along.”
“It’s not self-loathing. It’s realism, and realism isn’t cutting it on the dating apps.”
“Then get off dating apps and meet someone in real life.” She nods toward the bookshelf, where a woman in jeans and a red sweater runs her fingertip across every title slowly, as though she’s looking for something in particular. “Like that woman.”
“That woman looks twenty years younger than me.” I laugh and kiss my aunt on the head. “You’re trying to get me in trouble.”
“So what if she’s younger than you? I was fifteen years younger than your uncle.”
“And look how that turned out.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not too old to spank your bottom. Now go talk to that girl. Her name is Holly. She works at that little old bookstore on Chestnut Lane. Single mom.” My aunt taps me on the arm. “She makes your favorite banana bread.”
My brows wrinkle. “I thought you made that banana bread?”
Aunt Vera smirks. “Dear… think about that for a second.”
“My life is all lies,” I say playfully. “What will you tell me next? Is your lasagna from the Italian spot off Main?”
She tilts her head to the side and raises her brows. I think it’s in good fun, but now I’m not sure. “I have a bad knee, and your uncle loved to eat. How else was I supposed to keep him satisfied? Now go to Holly and thank her for all the good bread.”
I blink at her, half laughing as I say, “I don’t know if I can now. I’m too disturbed.”
She leans in, light blue eyes gleaming. “You can call it whatever you want if it gets you moving. Holly is sweet and smart, and she’s got loads of ambition.
I think you’d be good for each other.” Aunt Vera uses all ninety-seven pounds of herself to push me forward.
“Tell her I sent you, and that I need more banana bread. The one with chocolate chips and the streusel topping.”
“You’re really committed to this banana bread story, aren’t you?”
Her eyes roll to the side. “I’m committed to seeing you get married and having some babies before I die. Now go.”
I’m moving, though I can’t help but wonder when I became the man that lets little old ladies boss me around.
Then again, I guess it’s been happening for a while.
The day Uncle Pat met Aunt Vera, I knew she’d be trouble.
Thankfully, it was in the best possible way.
I’m pretty sure she saved us from the bachelor pad Uncle Pat was curating.
I’m nearly to the woman at the bookshelf when she glances toward me with a smile that catches me off guard.
She’s pretty. Heart-stoppingly pretty. She’s pretty in a way that’s natural, soft, and genuine. That’s not easy to find anymore, and the way my body is reacting, it knows it too. I feel it in my chest. A sudden ache, sharp and unexpected.
“Are you looking for something in particular? My uncle enjoyed the classics. There are quite a few vintage titles in here.” I scan the mahogany shelf and pull out the first edition copy of A Christmas Carol.
The woman’s face lights, giving my stomach another reason to absurdly ache.
“If my aunt would let me sell this properly, it would be worth—”
“Ten grand in this condition.” Her tone is even softer than I expected. “I can’t afford it. I heard you haggling with a man over binoculars. Sounds like you have your prices set.”
I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, sounding a little kinder to the soft brunette than I did with the balding jerk who wanted to steal my uncle’s vintage binoculars as I say, “I’m trying to preserve my uncle’s memory.
If he were here, he’d have wanted me to get the best possible deal for his belongings.
My aunt, though, she has other motives.”
“I understand.” The woman nods, gripping the strap of her purse as she studies the shelf for other titles. “What about this one?” She holds a 1962 printed copy of The Hobbit. “Is this worth anything?”
“Five hundred maybe. It’s not a first edition, but it’s a collectable—”
“Holly, dear,” Aunt Vera interrupts with a high-pitched hello and nudge that lets me know I’m not performing to her standards. “What brings you up here?”
“I didn’t realize this was your sale,” the woman says, still holding a copy of The Hobbit. “I’m so sorry about Pat. I loved seeing you two wander into the bookstore together on Saturdays.”
“Oh, we did too, sweetheart. The Christmas display in your front window was always our favorite to see, and we just loved getting a loaf of your bread every time we stopped in. How’s your little boy doing?”
Holly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and offers that sweet smile again.
“He’s good. We’re just, ugh, ya know… working through the holidays.
” Holly’s eyes flick to mine for a second like she forgot I was standing there, then back to Vera.
“Honestly, it’s been harder than usual. The bookstore isn’t doing that great, and I’m a little worried Marley might be closing for good. ”
“Oh, honey.” Aunt Vera leans in toward the young woman, hugging her while mouthing something I can’t understand in my direction. “I get it. I was struggling for years before I met Pat and the Grinch here.”
“Grinch?” I clear my throat. “Is that supposed to be me?”
Aunt Vera pats my arm like I’m a rescue dog.
“Oh, you should have seen him when I got here. He was bouncing off the walls, screaming at the TV any time the Broncos gave up a point. Now look at him, semi-respectable. It took years to polish him up, but now he’s a little less Grinch and a little more… well adjusted.”
I shrug. “My Aunt Vera’s the head of my public relations team.”
Holly laughs the kind of laugh that makes you want to hear it again. “I think she deserves a raise.”
Without hesitation, Aunt Vera swipes A Christmas Carol off the bookshelf and hands it toward Holly. “It’s a very old copy. You’ll need to have it authenticated, but I think it’s worth some money.”
“What?” Holly’s face lights. “No, I can’t take it. It’s yours. Sell it online to a collector. That’s what we’d be doing at the bookstore.”
“I could sell this stuff online to collectors, darling, but that’s not what I want.
I want Pat’s stuff to go with people who’ll appreciate them.
” She places the slim, gilded copy of A Christmas Carol in Holly’s hands before leaning into her with a hug.
“I’ve been in your shoes. I know what it’s like to lose jobs, struggle with rent, and ex-boyfriends.
Take the book you were already holding too.
Grayson will help get them authenticated and find you buyers.
He’s good with all that.” She glances toward me. “Right, Gray?”
“Right.” I nod, a little pleased that the woman who helped raise me has turned into the best wingman ever. “I’ll help with whatever you need.”
Holly diverts her gaze down before glancing toward my aunt, who’s full of smiles. “That’s really not necessary. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”
“It’s not trouble,” I manage, trying not to notice the way the strands of her hair tuck into her cleavage. “I’m happy to help.”
And I mean it, more than I’ve meant anything in a while.
Honestly, if I was being true to myself, this is all fucked as hell.
I don’t even know this woman, I have so many more items to sell and things to do around here, and the truth is, she’s way too damn young for me…
but there’s something about her. Something soft and aching. Something that feels like home to me.
Clearly, I’m fucking losing it!
I shake my head and tuck my hand into the pocket of my jeans as I stare toward the girl with the hazel eyes. She’s going to wreck my life. I don’t know how yet, but I just know it.