Chapter Two #2
Though her food was getting cold and the sunset behind her would soon be gone, Erica had to take a look.
If she didn’t, she’d be thinking about that camera all night long.
The lights of the antique shop were still on, and the sign hanging against the door stated the store was open for business. She’d only be a minute.
Erica rushed inside and started at the frantic tinkling of the bell above her head.
She stood on the welcome mat and stared into the reverent silence of the antique shop.
She had been in plenty of stores like this before, since she’d adopted her love of old, vintage things from her mother.
They had trekked through dozens of antique stores in her early years, but never one this packed.
She was almost afraid to move for fear that she would bump into something and cause the whole fragile arrangement to tumble into a heap.
Everywhere were canes, clocks, tables stacked with crystal goblets and porcelain tea sets, paintings, display cases of guns and knives, boxes of out-of-circulation coins, old license plates hung on the walls, barrels of toys from before World War II, mannequins fashioned in old military uniforms and formal gowns from another era, and shelves lined with pottery and vases that looked to be from all over the world.
The musty air didn’t bother her in the least. This was the smell of priceless treasures, and Erica took a moment to take a deep whiff of it.
“I don’t allow food in my store.”
She jumped at the deep, masculine voice that came from somewhere in the assorted chaos of antiques toward the back of the store. She glanced around, trying to find the source, then down at her food. How could anyone smell the burger from that far away?
“I just stopped in to look at something in your window.” Her eyes continued to search for the man somewhere behind all the shelves and aisles that seemed to go on forever. Erica guessed that he must have seen her come in or maybe heard the static rustling of the plastic takeout bag.
“Leave the food on the counter then.”
She did as she was told and set it on the counter by the register, which was just inside the front door.
It’d be much easier to handle the camera if both her hands were free anyway.
Without another word, she moved around to the display window, cautiously tiptoeing down the narrow path that wound up to the sewing table.
Erica leaned over, mindful not to let her sleeves catch on any of the frames and plucked the camera from its resting place.
It was like holding something sacred, and she felt a spark of awe when she examined it in the light.
She turned the Rolleiflex over in her hands, marveling at the details she had only ever seen in pictures.
The silhouette of a man passed through her peripheral vision, and she turned to face him.
Her eyes trailed upward from his dark jeans to his broad, muscular shoulders.
A thick chest narrowed down into a slim waist, half concealed by an undone dark blue, button-down shirt atop a white shirt that clung to his tight, firm physique.
He’d look more at home on the cover of a magazine than in an antique shop.
His short raven hair paired perfectly with the thick layer of stubble, completing his look of masculinity.
But it was his eyes that made her speechless.
As clear and blue as a summer sky, Erica was sure she had never seen eyes so intense in her life.
She had seen plenty of pretty blues in her time as a photographer, but never a set so utterly and decidedly one color and nothing else.
They were pure, honest, and penetrating as they pinned her where she stood.
A familiar, but long overdue sensation streaked through her core.
This man was handsome, without a doubt, but it had been years since she’d felt this attracted to a complete stranger.
She knew nothing about him, but she certainly wanted to.
If her mother were here, she would be jabbing her elbow into Erica’s ribs with a cunning smile.
They’d shared an interest in handsome men, making for some rather playful conversations.
“That’s an Original Rolleiflex,” he said, breaking her daze.
That confirmed that this man owned the antique shop.
It was the same deep, almost bass-level voice that shouted at her earlier.
She might have expected him to be an assistant or maybe the son of the owner.
In all the shops she had visited before, the owners seemed to be just as old and frail as the wares they sold.
But there was nothing frail about the guy who stood in front of her.
He seemed a few years older and was at least half a foot taller than her, cutting an intimidating figure.
His words broke the spell he had unwittingly cast over her, and she looked back to the camera that had almost been forgotten. “An original?” There were dozens of Rolleiflex models manufactured over the last century, but an original was fairly difficult to come by.
He offered out his hand, and for a moment she wasn’t sure what he wanted, then she handed him the camera. Their fingers grazed in the transfer and Erica instantly felt dizzy. No, she had never felt such a strong pull to anyone before.
The shop owner then proceeded to tell her all of its features and how the strap, diodes, and lens were all directly from the manufacturer—not a replica or refurbished model. The way his words seemed to roll out of his perfect lips hypnotized her as much as the story of the camera.
“It was made by Franke & Heidecke, a German company,” he continued. “The first Rolleiflex was released in January of 1929 and they stopped making this model in—”
“—1932,” she finished for him. She hoped that she wouldn’t come across as rude.
Erica already knew everything he’d explained to her.
Photography wasn’t just a job. It was a passion, and she made it her business to know everything about the history of cameras, photography, and film.
It made her appreciate how far they had come since the days of hand-painted portraits.
A flicker of something like amusement danced in those perfect eyes, and Erica hoped that he was impressed. “You know your cameras,” he said with an approving smile.
With nervous hands, she took the Rolleiflex back and tapped her nail on the side. “You forgot to mention how the metallic bellows were a huge thing back then. The bellows on older cameras were leather and Heidecke wanted to make a camera that was compact enough to travel and survive storage.”
The man nodded. “Yeah, they had a problem with rats eating the bellows or rotting out in humid climates because of the moisture in the air.”
Erica couldn’t hold in her grin, and a wave of heat rose up her neck to bloom in her cheeks.
Why was she getting so turned on from such a nerdy conversation with this perfect stranger?
For a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, they gazed at one another, and Erica wished the Rolleiflex still had film.
If it did, she would have tried to capture the way this man’s eyes seemed to brighten in the light of the sunset.
“How much?” she asked breathlessly.
As if coming out of a haze himself, the shop owner blinked and looked at the camera.
“Well…” He slid his thumbs into his jean pockets.
“According to the serial number, this is a 611 model, made in 1929. It’s in very good condition and still has all of its original parts.
I don’t have any film to go with it, but I think I’d price it at three hundred and ten. ”
Erica’s eyes went wide. Afraid she might drop it out of shock, she held the camera a little closer to her stomach. “Three hundred and ten dollars? I don’t suppose you’d be open to haggling?”
The man chuckled, such a resonating and soothing sound that made her core tighten. “I don’t like to do it, but I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give it to you in exchange for an introduction.”
Was this the way an antique shop owner flirted?
If it was, Erica could play that game all day.
Common sense soon caught up with her, and she shook her head.
Her mom had taught her better than to accept a seriously expensive gift without properly repaying the giver.
“I couldn’t just walk out of here without paying something for it. ”
He took a step closer, and she could smell his clean, spicy cologne.
“You would be paying for it. Just not with money.”
Erica lifted an eyebrow. “So, knowing my name is worth three hundred and ten dollars?”
He laughed again, and her knees went weak, but she forced herself to stay standing.
Part of her wanted to prove that she wouldn’t be so won over by his charms, even though part of her wanted to give in to this bit of fun.
It was clear that he was interested, and so was she, but she had never done anything like this before, especially with someone she would risk running into in the future.
In a small town like Tolstone, and with her love of antiques, they would likely see a lot of one another.
“I also see that you appreciate the camera,” he said.
“I don’t get that from too many people who come in here.
They buy something because it looks pretty, or it’ll match some décor in their home.
It’s been a long time since I had someone walk in, pick up a piece that I don’t have to make them realize is more than just beautiful. It has meaning.”
She colored at the compliment and bit her lips together to keep herself from saying something that would ruin the moment.
This man trusted her to take care of this camera, to love it, and give it a good home.
This might not have had anything to do with a proper introduction or genuine flirting, but at least she knew she had won his respect.
He offered his hand for her to shake. “My name’s Dominic Beaumont.”