16. Frannie
My plan tosleep in and get caught up on rest lasted until just after seven a.m. That’s when Pete the Dog opened the door to my bedroom and hopped up on the bed.
“Go away. I’m supposed to get to sleep in.” I pulled a pillow over my head and tried to ignore him.
He nudged his nose under the pillow. His warm, gross doggy breath filled the space. I gagged as I avoided breathing it in.
“What have you been eating?” Rolling over, I pinched my nose. “Never mind.”
I knew what he’d been eating, at least last night. Memories of the conversation Evan and I shared hit me like a two-by-four to the skull. Had I really admitted to him that I’d never had an orgasm during sex? Ugh. I shouldn’t have said yes to the second glass of wine at dinner. I’d never even felt it. I just got tired.
Great. Now I’d have to figure out a way to convince Evan I’d been joking. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Based on the soft light filtering in through the blinds, it was too damn early to get up.
Pete the Dog wasn’t capable of negotiating, so I pulled on a robe, slid my feet into my slippers, and headed to the kitchen in search of coffee.
I’d spent plenty of time in Evan’s kitchen, even though I’d never woken up at his place before. I let the dog out back and dug around until I found everything I needed to get a pot of coffee brewing. I’d brought over my pricey machine that could make everything from a cappuccino to a strong shot of espresso, but hadn’t unpacked it yet. His ancient drip machine was probably older than both of us put together, but it would do in a pinch.
While the coffee bubbled and slowly filled the pot, I sat down at the table and stared out back. Pete the Dog had already proven he wouldn’t wander, and Evan didn’t have any neighbors close by, so I wasn’t worried about that. What I was worried about had more to do with the conversation we’d had last night.
Maybe we could both pretend it hadn’t happened. If I didn’t bring it up, Evan might not either. It would be one of those things that friends divulge in a moment of weakness that’s never mentioned again. It’s not that I was afraid to talk about sexy stuff with him. We joked around all the time and flung “that’s what she said” jokes between us. The difference was, we’d never taken the conversation to a deeply personal level. Until last night.
The coffee pot let out a dramatic sigh, and I got up to fill one of Evan’s mismatched cups. I doubted he had anything resembling milk or cream in the fridge, but pulled it open anyway.
My heart warmed at the sight of two big containers of coffee creamer.
“I wasn’t sure which one you liked better, vanilla or sweet cream.” Evan’s bare feet slapped on the hardwood floor as he came into the kitchen.
“You bought me coffee creamer?” I chose the vanilla, then shut the door and set the creamer on the counter.
“Trust me, it was a selfish move on my part. I’ve seen what happens when you don’t get your coffee in the mornings.” He gave me a smile that quickly morphed into a yawn.
“I hope the dog didn’t wake you up. He jumped up on the bed and wouldn’t leave me alone until I got up to let him out.” I pulled another mug down from the cabinet and filled it with the strong brew.
“Nope. I slept like a baby.” Evan grabbed the mug from the counter. “Thanks for making coffee.”
“You’re welcome. What are you doing up so early?” Depending on the schedule at the distillery, sometimes he had to go in on the weekends. “Are you working today?”
“Nope. I was going to take the dog on a walk, but since you’re up, maybe we can take him together. There’s an antique festival going on in Bordent this weekend. A few of the stores are having sidewalk sales. Any interest?”
I took a satisfying sip of my coffee and stared at him over the rim of my mug. “Who are you and what have you done with Evan?”
He laughed. “I thought you might enjoy it. I know how much you like looking through other people’s old stuff.”
“And what do you get out of it?” He had to have an ulterior motive.
“I thought you could come to Sunday dinner with me. We can take leftovers to your dad after. I’m pretty sure my mom is making pot roast, and that’s always been one of his favorites.”
“I’m tempted,” I teased.
“Sales start at eight,” Evan said. “You’d better figure out if you’re tempted enough to get a move on or if you’d rather sit around here all day and finish settling in.”
Evan knew me too well. The possibility of some else’s castaway treasures just waiting to be rediscovered had me moving toward the bedroom to get dressed.
“I can be ready in twenty minutes. Ten if I don’t need to shower,” I called out.
Twelve minutes later,I slid into the front seat of Evan’s truck. I’d filled two travel mugs with more coffee and even grabbed a couple of protein bars so we’d have enough fuel to get through the morning. He put on a country station, and we sang along to Morgan Wallen and Garth Brooks until we reached the edge of Bordent. Cars lined both sides of the downtown streets. It was barely eight o’clock on a Sunday morning and there were more people walking around than I’d ever seen in downtown Beaver Bluff.
“Is this a one-day event?” I saw license plates from as far away as New York and Nebraska. Whoever had pulled the sale together must have spent all their advertising dollars focusing on other states, because I hadn’t heard about it at all, and I only lived one county over.
“I think it started on Thursday and ends today. One of the guys from the warehouse told me about it. He said his grandma has a store in town and has been getting ready for weeks.”
Evan found a spot on a quiet residential street just west of the center of town. A sense of anticipation filled me. Today was going to be a good treasure-hunting day. I could feel it deep down in my bones.
We made our way back to the main street through town, where shops had set up tables and racks on the sidewalks outside. I took my time looking over a variety of items. The offerings ranged from high-priced collectibles to everyday junk with a ton of stuff in between.
Evan caught sight of some vintage vinyl records and I left him flipping through a milk crate while I continued to explore. My mom used to have a huge collection of salt and pepper shakers and I was always on the lookout for the little boy sweet shoppe shaker I’d broken as a kid. It had been her favorite set, and I’d always planned on ordering a replacement for her. Until she passed on and didn’t need it anymore. Out of habit, I still scanned every antique store and thrift shop I entered, hoping one day I’d find the match to the little cupcake girl saltshaker I had wrapped up and hidden away at home.
After hours of perusing the sidewalk sale, I was ready for a break. We stopped at a small cafe on the ground floor of the old bank building. Most of the buildings had been repurposed into offices or condos with retail space at the bottom. Evan ordered us both burgers, then opened up the bag he’d been carrying to show me what he’d bought.
“Is that it? All you got is a Johnny Cash album?” I flipped the album cover over and stared down at the man in black. “Don’t you already have every one of his albums stored on your phone?”
Evan rolled his eyes as he handed me a glass of sweet tea. “It’s not the same, Frannie. Digital music is convenient, but there’s nothing like hearing a classic play on vinyl.”
“I guess I don’t hear a difference.” Neither of my parents had ever been into music, so any knowledge I’d gained was from listening to Evan.
“When we get home tonight, I’ll play it for you. I guarantee you’ll hear the difference.”
I could always tell when he was serious about something because a line would show up right between his brows. It made him look like a little boy, but I’d never tell him that.
“Okay. I’ll try listening to your records again.” We’d had this conversation before. Every time he swore the music sounded different, and every time I listened to him play an album on the pre-eighties turntable he’d rescued from his parents’ rec room, I felt the same way.
“Hey, at least I picked out something. You haven’t bought anything yet.” Our server had delivered our meal while we’d been talking, and Evan was halfway done with his burger already.
“I haven’t found anything that’s moved me yet.” As much as I loved history and learning more about the people who’d lived and loved before me, I was pretty selective when deciding what to spend my money on. My grandmother’s house had always been so full of collectibles it felt claustrophobic. For me to dedicate space to an item, it had to feel a certain way to me. It was difficult to explain, but I always knew in my gut when I needed to bring something home.
“Maybe you’ll be moved by something on the way back to the truck.” Evan cleared our baskets away. “We probably need to get back to let Pete the Dog out before we head to dinner.”
Dinner. With his family. That’s what I’d agreed to. I was looking forward to catching up with Ruby and Evan’s parents. Except for running into each other in town from time to time, I hadn’t seen much of them since Evan came back. As for his brothers, I wouldn’t necessarily mind if they had other plans. When all four of them got together, I was liable to get caught in the middle of a good-natured ribbing fest or something much worse.
We took off down the sidewalk and almost passed a narrow shop tucked between two much larger buildings. “Let’s go in here.”
Evan let me lead the way into the cozy shop. The scent of spiced apples hung in the air, along with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
The shop held a mix of old and new that appeared to be on consignment. Little tags attached to each item showed the price as well as a number assigned to the owner. I passed by the checkout counter and smiled at an older woman with curly gray hair who was petting a fat orange cat in her lap.
A bookcase on the opposite wall drew my attention. “Evan, look at these old pictures of Beaver Bluff.”
He came up next to me and picked up a black-and-white picture in a glass frame. “That’s the distillery. They’ve got the same picture hanging on the wall in the front office.”
“We’ve got several items from folks who lived in Beaver Bluff,” the woman offered. “I think I’ve even got a diary over here from one of the early Bishops that just came in.”
I met the woman at a glass display case. “How did you get a diary from one of the Bishops?”
“I’d like to know the answer to that as well.” Evan had come up next to me. “I thought all the family history was either with the family or down at the historical society.”
“We never know what’s going to come in.” The woman unlocked the case and carefully picked up an old leather-bound journal. “This just came in last week from a woman who lives way out west. She said she’d just lost her dad and was cleaning out his attic. Take a look.”
I was too nervous to flip the yellowed pages, so I held it in my hand. A sense of knowing swept over me. This was what I needed to take home. “What are you asking for it?”
“It’s in pretty good condition for its age. I’m not sure all the pages are legible, but fifty dollars sounds like a fair price to me.”
Evan reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “We’ll take it.”