“Well, not all of it. I do buy a few pieces—the kinds of things I have no interest in creating. Also, they help fluff it up a little. You know, so the place doesn’t get too sparse. Especially in summer when it’s really busy out there.”
She nodded, taking all this in.
“Anyway, the shell shop next door used to be my grandma’s,” he explained. “Back when we were kids. Then my mom took it over—oh, almost twenty years ago. For whatever reason, she wanted to make it fancy. More uptown for deep-pocketed citified tourists. I wasn’t too enthused about the idea, but I have to admit it turned out to be a pretty smart business move. She manages to stay open and turn a profit year-round.”
“But she doesn’t buy seashells.” Wendy frowned down at her box.
“Crystal was wrong about that. And I have no doubt my mom would be interested in some of these. Except that she’s in Florida for the winter.” He picked up a large scallop shell, holding it up. “However, I might be interested in some of these.”
“Really?” She frowned. “Are you just being nice?”
“Not at all.” He stood, picking up the box. “I’m closed today, but come into my store and I’ll show you around ... if you like.”
Within moments he was giving her a tour of what was an amazingly beautiful store. Not only were there gorgeous pieces of handmade wood furniture, but there were decorative items as well—items that had been crafted from arrangements of beautiful shells or nautical items. “I order these accessories from a catalogue.” He pointed to a large mirror trimmed in spikes of driftwood and a lamp with a shade covered in shells. “These accent pieces, along with my furnishings, sell like hotcakes in the summertime.” He went over to the counter, pulling out a shiny catalogue. “See.” He flipped through the pages, showing her item after item. “These boxes are really popular.” He pointed to a picture framed with scallop shells. “Each is one-of-a-kind. Not cheap either.”
She nodded, studying the photograph closely. “I’ll bet they’re not that hard to make,” she mused aloud. “Just a glue gun and a few supplies.”
“Especially if you already have the raw materials,” he pointed to her box of shells. “And if you have an artistic bent.” He glanced curiously at her. “Do you?”
She turned to him in surprise. “I’ve dabbled in art some.”
“I had a feeling.”
“Why?” she asked. “What made you think that?”
“Just a hunch. The way you were dressed the other day ... sort of ‘boho-chic,’ my sister would probably say. But I suspected as much.”
“So, do you think if I made some of these pieces that I could sell them?”
“Sure. Maybe not so much in the wintertime. But you could get a good start—create a nice stockpile for summer.”
“For summer...” She didn’t want to admit that summer would be too late.
“The off-season is always slow. Oh, I’ll probably get some traffic in here between Thanksgiving and Christmas, but after that, I usually just close shop. Unless it’s a holiday weekend. But I don’t mind. It gives me time to work uninterrupted and build up my stock for the busy season.”
“Right.” She slowly nodded, wondering if she could possibly create any pieces in time for Christmas shoppers. It didn’t sound realistic. Not with everything else she had to accomplish before returning to Ohio. “Well, I don’t want to take any more of your time.” She closed the catalogue and picked up her box. “But I must admit that was interesting. Thanks for showing—”
“Wait,” he said. “I was serious about wanting to buy your shells.”
“Why?” she asked, studying his face and wishing he wasn’t quite so handsome—or so nice.
“Sometimes I use shells for inlay on wood pieces. Besides, I like having them around for accents.” He pointed to a table. “For instance, a basket of pretty shells would look great there, don’t you think?” He pointed to a wall shelf. “Or a few up there, maybe with a candle or something.”
She grinned. “Iknewyou were an interior decorator.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a stretch, but I suppose you weren’t totally wrong.” He shrugged. “And my mother likes to brag to her friends that I’m anarteest.”
She ran a hand over the sleek golden top of a live-edge console table. “I’d have to agree with her. This is gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” He jerked his thumb toward the back room. “How about if you leave your box of shells with me? I’ll go through them and come up with what I think is a fair price—that is, if you can trust me with them.”
“Of course.” She nodded. “That’d be fine.”
“And I’ll buy some for the shell shop too. Despite what Crystal says, I’ve got a feeling my mom and sis would be glad to get their hands on some of these beauties.”
“Great.”
He led her to the front door. “I’ll let you out here—so you won’t have to cross paths with Crystal again. I’m sorry she was being so snooty. She’s not usually like that.”
