Chapter Six
Ruby
“That's a Patek Philippe,” Ruby said, leaning against the counter.
The gas station attendant—Larry, according to his name tag—looked up from restocking cigarettes. “A what now?”
Larry glanced down at the watch like he'd never really seen it before. “My uncle gave it to me. Said it was old, but I didn't know it was fancy old.”
“It's more than fancy. It's rare.” Ruby straightened, more excited now. This was what she loved, finding beauty in unexpected places, stumbling across history hiding in plain sight. “Where'd your uncle get it?”
“He owns an antique store in the next town over. Aqua Vista, about twenty minutes from here. The place is packed with stuff like this. Old watches, jewelry, weird furniture. He's always trying to get me to work there, but,” Larry gestured around the gas station. “This pays better.”
“Does he sell to the public?”
“Yeah, loves it. Gets real chatty with customers. You interested?”
Ruby's mind was already racing. An antique store, off the beaten path, run by someone who clearly had an eye for quality if this watch was any indication.
These were the kinds of places where real treasures hid—not the picked-over shops in tourist areas, but the quiet stores where collectors went to die and their estates ended up.
She'd found some of her favorite pieces in places like this.
A Depression-era glass vase in rural Wisconsin.
A set of art deco bookends in a town so small it didn't have a stoplight.
Objects that spoke to her in ways she couldn't quite articulate, that made her fingers itch to paint them and capture their essence on canvas.
She was about to answer when Celeste appeared at her elbow.
“There you are. I've been waiting. We're already behind schedule and if we want to make it to St. Louis by nighttime, we can’t waste anymore time.”
“I know, I know.” Ruby turned back to Larry, not quite ready to let this go. “Your uncle's store. What's it called?”
“Noah's Antiques. Real creative, I know.” The attendant grinned. “Tell him Larry sent you. He'll probably give you a discount and talk your ear off about provenance.”
“Perfect.” She grabbed a napkin from the counter and scribbled down the name. “Thanks, Larry. You've made my entire day.”
“No problem. Have a good trip.”
Celeste was already heading toward the door, her posture radiating impatience. Ruby caught up to her in the parking lot, still buzzing with excitement.
“We need to make a detour,” Ruby announced as they reached the car.
Celeste stopped, one hand on the door handle. “What?”
“Aqua Vista. Twenty minutes from here. There's an antique store I need to see.”
“Ruby, we're already behind.”
“I'll buy lunch when we get there. My treat. At the best restaurant in town.”
“It's not about buying lunch.” Celeste pressed her fingers to her forehead, the gesture somehow both elegant and exasperated. Ruby was starting to recognize Celeste's tells. This one meant she was trying very hard to be patient. “It's about—”
“Staying on schedule,” Ruby finished, grinning. “Yeah, I got that. But hear me out. What if the schedule is more of a suggestion?”
“Schedules are not suggestions. They're necessary for efficient travel.”
“Counterpoint: spontaneity is necessary for not dying of boredom.” Ruby slid into the passenger seat. “Come on, Celeste. Live a little.”
“I do live.”
“Hmm.”
The sound was deliberately skeptical, and Celeste's eyes narrowed as she got into the driver's seat. “What does 'hmm' mean?”
“Nothing.” Ruby buckled her seatbelt, a smile playing on her lips. She was having entirely too much fun needling Celeste, watching her controlled exterior crack just slightly. “Just that you color-code your calendar and probably have a five-year plan.”
“Having organization doesn't mean I don't live.”
“If you say so.”
Ruby's phone buzzed in her pocket for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. She silenced it without looking. Her agent could wait. Everyone who wanted something from her that she wasn’t inclined to do at this point in time, could wait.
“Fair warning,” she said as Celeste started the car with visible reluctance. “I'm a spur-of-the-moment person. There will probably be more detours. So I'm apologizing in advance for the chaos I'm about to introduce to your very organized life.”
Celeste seemed about to say something in response. Ruby watched the war play out on her face—the desire to refuse versus something else, something that looked almost like mild curiosity.
“You can't just…we have reservations. A route. I made a spreadsheet.”
“You made a spreadsheet for a road trip?”
“It has color-coding.”
“Of course it does.” Ruby couldn't help it. She was absolutely delighted. Celeste looked so adorably flustered, that little line appearing between her eyebrows. Ruby had the sudden, inappropriate urge to smooth that line away with her thumb. “I promise the detour will be worth it. Scout's honor.”
“Were you even a scout?”
“Irrelevant.”
Celeste muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Italian cursing and pulled onto the road. Ruby settled back in her seat, victorious. She'd won this round, even if she suspected Celeste was already mentally recalculating their entire schedule to accommodate this deviation.
The music debate started approximately thirty seconds later.
“It would be nice to listen to something nice,” Ruby said, reaching for the aux cord.
“You’re picking?”
“Yes. I love objectively perfect driving music.”
“I get the feeling they’re sappy love songs.” Celeste changed lanes with precision that probably gave her insurance company warm feelings. Everything Celeste did was precise. Controlled. Ruby wondered what it would take to make her lose that control entirely. “Mostly about pining and longing and—”
“Emotions?”
“Excessive emotions.”
“There's no such thing as excessive emotions in music. That's the whole point.” Ruby scrolled through her playlist, looking for something that would make Celeste's eye twitch just a little. “You probably listen to classic rock and pretend it makes you sophisticated.”
“Classic rock is timeless.”
“Classic rock is what dads play at barbecues.”
Celeste's mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. Ruby counted that as a victory. “Now, about this music situation. I've been thinking about it, and I have a proposal.”
“I'm almost afraid to ask.”
“We each get to pick five songs per hour. No vetoes, no complaints. Complete musical democracy.”
“That seems fair. What if your taste is objectively terrible?”
“Then you'll have to suffer through it like an adult.” Ruby said, already deciding on what to play. “But I promise to ease you in gently. Think of it like exposure therapy.”
“You're comparing your music taste to a phobia treatment?”
“If the shoe fits.”
The first song Ruby chose was something upbeat, the kind of indie pop that probably played in trendy coffee shops.
Celeste began humming along and stopped immediately.
“You like it,” Ruby said, triumphant.
“I'm withholding judgment.”
“You were humming.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were. I have witnesses.”
“There's no one else in the car.”
“The candy bears witness.” Ruby held up a random pack of gummy bears. “They saw everything.”
A smile flickered across Celeste’s face, there and gone. “Fine. It is nicer than I expected. But if the next one’s a ballad about star-crossed lovers, I'm commandeering the aux.”
The GPS directed them off the highway onto a two-lane road that wound through farmland. Fields stretched endlessly on either side, punctuated by the occasional farmhouse or barn. Ruby loved drives like this—the sense of being nowhere and everywhere at once, the world reduced to pavement and sky.
“We're going to get lost,” Celeste muttered beside her. “Or abducted. Or both.”
“The gas station attendant seemed trustworthy.”
“That's what they always say in true crime podcasts right before everything goes sideways.”
“You listen to true crime podcasts?” Ruby twisted in her seat to look at Celeste properly. This was an unexpected detail and somehow endearing.
“Braden got me hooked.” Celeste sighed. “He has terrible taste in entertainment.”
“He seems nice.”
“He is nice. Too nice, sometimes. That's why he keeps trying to fix my life.”
Ruby filed that comment away for later examination.
“Turn left in half a mile,” the GPS announced.
They turned onto an even smaller road, and then suddenly there it was: a weathered building with “Noah’s Antiques” painted in fading letters across the front. The parking lot was empty except for an ancient pickup truck that looked like it had survived several decades through sheer stubbornness.
“See?” Ruby said, already unbuckling her seatbelt. “Not abducted.”
“The day's still young.”
Inside, the store was a labyrinth of treasures and junk, the line between them beautifully blurred. Grandfather clocks stood next to vintage typewriters. Art deco lamps illuminated displays of costume jewelry. The air smelled like old paper and furniture polish and time itself.
An elderly man emerged from behind a tower of hatboxes, smiling broadly. He was probably in his seventies, with a shock of white hair and eyes that held the kind of sharpness that came from decades of spotting the valuable among the worthless.
“Welcome, welcome! I'm Noah.” He wiped his hands on his apron, covered in what looked like furniture polish stains. “Larry called ahead, said you were interested in timepieces?”
“Among other things.” Ruby stepped further into the store, her eyes catching on a stack of vintage travel posters. “This place is incredible.”
“Been collecting for forty years. Every piece has a story.” Noah's eyes sparkled behind wire-rimmed glasses.
He had the energy of someone who genuinely loved what he did, who'd found his calling and never looked back. “Take your time, look around. Though I should mention, I’ve got a new shipment coming tomorrow morning. Estate sale from a collector in California. Some truly remarkable pieces.”
“No thank you,” Celeste said. “We really need to get going—”
Ruby made a soft hushing sound, cutting her short, before turning her attention back to the store owner. Estate sales were gold mines. “What kind of pieces?”
“Oh, all sorts. The man was a true collector.
Jewelry, art, rare books and antique scientific instruments.
He spent fifty years accumulating treasures from all over the world.
There's a Victorian-era microscope I've been eyeing. And a set of first edition Dickens. Although I should mention—” He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
“There's a watercolor. French countryside, unsigned, but the technique is masterful. Been wondering about the artist for years. The collector never could figure it out either.”
Ruby's heart kicked against her ribs. She hadn't painted anything worthwhile in months, but she still knew good art when she heard about it. And the mystery of an unsigned piece, the story behind it, that was like catnip to her.
“What time does the shipment arrive?”
“Early. Seven AM. I like to get started before the day heats up.” Noah pulled out a worn leather notebook, flipping through pages covered in cramped handwriting and stapled photos.
“Let me show you what else is coming. Art Nouveau lamp, Tiffany style.
The collector swore it was authentic, but I'll need to verify.
And there's a whole collection of antique keys.
Skeleton keys, mostly. I've always been fascinated by keys—all the doors they've opened, all the secrets they've kept.”
Ruby leaned over the counter, studying the photographs. Each piece had a story, a history. She could feel the pull of them, the way they called to something in her that had been dormant for too long.
“These are beautiful,” she murmured.
“Aren't they? The collector had impeccable taste.” Noah's smile was wistful. “Reminds me of someone I used to know. Had that same eye for beauty in unexpected places.”
“That's exactly it,” Ruby said, surprised by how much this stranger understood. “Most people walk right past beauty because they're not looking for it. But it's everywhere if you pay attention.”
“Exactly! You get it. Most folks come in here looking for something specific. But the real magic is in discovering what you didn't know you were looking for.”
Noah paused and looked at Ruby with understanding that felt almost paternal. “You're an artist, aren't you?”
“How did you—”
“The way you look at things. Like you're seeing past the surface to what's underneath.” He smiled. “I've been doing this long enough to recognize it.”
Ruby felt seen in a way that was both uncomfortable and thrilling. “I paint. Sometimes. When I can.”
“Then you need to see this collection. Trust me. It'll inspire you.”
Ruby glanced back at Celeste, who was standing by the door with her arms crossed, clearly trying to be patient and failing.
She and Noah discussed the subject of spending the night in Aqua vista some more, before she crossed over to Celeste, gently taking her by the elbow and tugging her away from Noah’s earshot.
Celeste's arm was warm under her touch, solid and real, and Ruby was acutely aware of how close they were standing.
“We should stay.”
“Here? Overnight?” Celeste's eyes widened. “Ruby, we have a hotel reservation waiting for us.”
“We can find another hotel tomorrow evening.” Ruby knew she was pushing, but something in her chest was insistent, as it often occurred when she came across new antique items to potentially keep. “Please. I know it's asking a lot, but this matters to me.”
“Why?”
“I just—” Ruby let out a sigh. “I need to see it. The art, the antiques, all of it. I can't explain why, but I do. It’s just who I am.”
Celeste studied her face, and Ruby felt exposed under that sharp, intelligent gaze. Like Celeste could see past her to something deeper underneath.
“This is important to you,” Celeste said. Not a question.
“Yeah.”
Celeste closed her eyes briefly, and Ruby watched her internal debate play out across her features.
Ruby held her breath, waiting.