After paying her plumbing bill, she got out her box and headed down the street. Hopefully, since it was the day before Thanksgiving and the town looked fairly busy, the shell shop would be open. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in a shoe store window almost made her rethink this plan. What was she thinking?With her paint-splattered old clothes and a faded bandana wrapped around her hair, she looked like a bag lady. But seeing a young couple emerging from She Sells Sea Shells with a purchase in hand, she decided to swallow her pride and go for it. After all, it was just a tourist shop, and the state of her finances was dire.
To her surprise, the shop was much nicer than she remembered. Instead of the junky tourist trap that she’d adored as a child, it was actually quite elegant. Certainly, there were still shells and treasures sprinkled about, but they were artfully displayed in gleaming glass cases with expensive looking jewelry inside—all very high-end and beautiful.
“Can I help you?” An attractive blonde woman studied Wendy with arched brows—as if to ask,Is the bag lady lost?
“Well, I—I’m not sure.” Feeling conspicuous and foolish, Wendy set her slightly worn box of seashells on the counter. “I haven’t been in here for years,” she confessed. “I thought it was still a touristy shell shop—and that perhaps you’d like to purchase some interesting shells.” She looked down at the box. “I have quite an unusual collection here. Some very—”
“No, thank you,” the woman said crisply. “We don’tbuyshells here.” She frowned at the box. “We’re notthat kindof business.”
Wendy felt the insult, but decided to dig herself in deeper. “Do you know of any other place that might—”
“No, I can’t think of anyone whobuysshells.” The woman folded her arms in front of her with a disgruntled expression. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“I’m sorry to have troubled you.” Wendy picked up her box just as the bell on the door jingled, and she heard someone coming in. Now she really wanted to disappear—or just blend in with the walls. She’d been foolish to enter this shop—and looking like this!
“Hello,” a male voice called from in front.
“Hey there,” the blonde woman chirped, smiling brightly past Wendy. “I was hoping you’d stop by and say hello.” Her tone turned flirtatious. “So, tell me, what’re you up to today?”
“Not much. How’s business?”
“It’s okay, but I’ve been missing you, Caleb.”
Wendy felt a jolt at the name Caleb. Was thisherCaleb—the guy from the hardware store? And if so, how could she avoid being seen by him? Feeling like a trapped rabbit, she moved away from the counter, slipping behind a rotating card rack, pretending to be interested in the glossy seascape images as she slowly backed away.
“Wendy?” Caleb came straight to her, grinning triumphantly. “Hey, I thought that was you walking through town just a few minutes ago.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “And it looks like you’ve been painting.”
She nodded mutely. Could this get any more embarrassing?
He pointed to a splotch of Sea Glass blue paint on her arm. “So how did this shade look in your bathroom?”
She smiled meekly. “Pretty great. But the floor’s not down yet.”
“And the White Sand color?” He pointed to her other arm.
“I only got two walls painted in the living room so far, but it looks nice. Very clean and fresh.”
“What about this shade?” He pointed to a splotch on her shoulder. “I don’t remember you getting that color.”
“I actually mixed that color myself,” she admitted. “I took the half-used can of Sea Glass that was left over from the bathroom and filled it with some White Sand paint to get this pale blue color. I used it to paint my bedroom.”
“Clever.” He nodded with approval.
“It turned out really soft and pretty.”
He peered down at the cardboard box in her hands. “What’s that you got there?”
“Seashells,” she muttered with embarrassment. She felt like a child who’d been trying to peddle her wares—unsuccessfully.
“Yes, I can see those are shells. But where are they from? What are you doing with them?”
She lowered her voice, attempting to explain. “You see, I was clearing things out, you know, to paint. My grandparents have a ton of this stuff. I love it, but don’t know what to do with all of it. I thought a tourist shop might want to buy some.” She glanced around the fancy store. “I didn’t realize this shop had changed so much over the years.”
He nodded as he picked up an abalone shell. “Yeah. Not much like when we were kids, is it?” He turned to the woman still behind the counter. “So what did you tell her, Crystal?”
The snooty blonde held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “Just that we don’t buy seashells.”
Caleb frowned. “But that’s not completely true.”
