Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Fern woke up in her own bed, her head nestled against the curve of Daniel’s shoulder, his arm slung lazily around her waist. For a blissful moment, she didn’t move.
The usual city sounds of car horns, the distant hum of life in London drifted in from the window, and for once it all felt peaceful.
Last night they had climbed into bed after their heart-to-heart and cuddled each other until they fell asleep.
Daniel stirred beside her and murmured, ‘You know what’s weird? Waking up and not seeing a moose hanging over our heads.’
Fern laughed.
‘You London types are all about minimalist chic.’
She lifted her head and gave him a mock serious look. ‘I’ll have you know, I’ve got plenty of quirks. I’m very partial to a velvet throw pillow, and I have a Leonard, don’t forget…’
‘Ah, the plant fighting for survival,’ Daniel teased, propping himself up on one elbow.
They lay there a little longer, the sheets tangled around their legs, neither in a rush to move. London might have been awake and buzzing, but inside her apartment, time slowed down, cocooning them in the soft bubble of morning-after happiness.
‘So,’ Daniel said after a while, his fingers tracing idle circles on her bare shoulder, ‘what does a big-shot music journalist actually do with her weekends? When she’s not busy interviewing superstars and breaking hearts, that is.’
Fern tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘You’re assuming I don’t spend every Saturday in the British Museum.’
‘You don’t?’
‘More often it’s brunch. Too much coffee. A painfully overpriced pastry. Wandering around markets pretending I’m cultured when I’m really just buying cheese. Or the odd rooftop bar with Ella.’
He smiled, brushing his lips softly against her temple. ‘You make it sound like it’s all so perfect.’
‘Then there’s the housework.’
‘Which must take all of ten minutes…’ teased Daniel.
She turned onto her side to face him properly. ‘Most weekends are spent wishing I had someone to share it with – the real stuff, the boring stuff. Coffee?’ she asked, and he nodded. ‘I’ll be back in five.’
After handing a mug to Daniel she slipped back under the covers.
‘I suppose we must try and get up soon,’ she said, taking a sip of her own coffee.
She reached for her phone, which had been charging on the nightstand, and the screen lit up with a scatter of notifications, including the inevitable slew of messages from Ella.
Ella
You missed the BEST after-party!
Jax was in prime form. You should’ve seen it. The whole band partied hard!
Attached was a photo of Ella, glowing with her signature after-party sparkle, standing sandwiched between the band members. Jax’s arm hung casually around her waist, fingers resting far too comfortably on her hip.
For a flicker of a second, she wondered if Ella had slept with him. Before she could dwell on it, her phone buzzed again with a text from a number she didn’t recognise.
Reading it, Fern flapped her hand at Daniel. ‘We have a message from Eliza Valentine! She has a lead on the wedding dress and has invited us over for brunch! It’s a Hampstead postcode.’
‘Where’s that?’
She passed her phone to him so he could read the message. ‘One of London’s greenest, most enviable corners. The kind of place where houses come with manicured gardens, sweeping staircases and family portraits older than the street itself.’
‘Wow!’ replied Daniel as he read the message and passed the phone back to Fern.
‘Looks like we’ve got a brunch date. Are we ready to find out who the mysterious groom is?’
‘I have to say I’m intrigued about the bride, too! It could be something or nothing.’
‘Either way, we can make a decision to sell the dress, now we have some idea of its worth. That money could help spruce up the shop. Maybe even replace the windows and the front door.’
But Fern’s mind had already drifted, her attention snagged by a different notification lighting up her screen, an email from Edgar Carmichael, Puffin Island’s solicitor. She skimmed the subject line.
Offer Received: No. 17 Curiosity Lane.
The email was short and to the point: a client of Edgar’s, someone private but serious, had made an offer for the shop including all its contents.
A very generous one. The kind of figure that needed careful consideration.
She glanced sideways at Daniel, who was drinking his coffee with a blissful smile on his face.
Could she really sell it? This offer wasn’t just a passing daydream or a ‘what if the right buyer came along?’ scenario.
It was a hefty six-figure sum. This was real and the pros were easy.
Money in the bank, and she wouldn’t even have the headache of getting rid of any of the stuff.
But the cons … they came with faces. One in particular, and he was lying right next to her.
Edgar hadn’t mentioned Daniel in the email.
She didn’t think he could persuade him to leave.
Or maybe she could, if the price was right?
Fern sighed, staring at the screen. The temptation was so strong but the question that was really playing on her mind was: was financial freedom worth the risk of hurting Daniel and destroying their relationship?
Daniel’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘We’d best shower and make ourselves presentable for brunch.’
‘We’d best,’ she replied, taking a swig of coffee.
‘We’re going to crack this case … it’s all about teamwork.’
Fern watched as he jumped out of bed and straight into the shower, but all she could think about was Edgar’s client’s offer, which seemed way too generous for the old, rundown antique shop.