She’d knocked over the behemoth of her bag, and as she crouched to pick up the contents that spilled, he noticed how nicely the long, simple shape complimented her, hugging well-proportioned curves and, when she finally stood, swirling about hints of long legs. It was a bronze color, made of a soft, shiny, crinkly material, and with her fair skin and chestnut hair, it made her look soft and golden…and very feminine.
Fiona’s fine auburn eyebrows rose as she tucked the last item back into her bag. “Is something the matter, Mr. Nath?”
With a start, Gideon realized he’d been staring and, belatedly, that he hadn’t asked her to call him by his first name. “No, I just thought I’d forgotten to do something . . . but, please,” he forced a smile, wondering where his head had gotten, “call me Gideon. Now, let me get those keys.”
He turned to retrieve the small goldenrod envelope that contained the keys to the shop and all doors of the building that Fiona Murphy now owned. Flipping the metal clasp that held it closed, he poured the keys—twenty-some in all—onto the table.
“You have your work cut out for you,” he said wryly. “Most of these keys aren’t labeled—although a few are, and, undoubtedly, some of them are duplicates—but as for the rest of them, I have no idea what they’re for.”
Gideon retrieved one ring with four keys on it and handed it to her. “These are for the shop itself and they’re labeled—front and back doors, safe, and storage room.”
Fiona took the envelope and slipped it, along with the rest of her paperwork into the cavernous leather bag and extended a hand. “I guess we’re all set then,” she smiled as he clasped her hand, feeling the ridges of the many rings that adorned her fingers. “Thanks so much for all of your help, H.—er, Gideon. I really appreciate it.” Her smile was sunny and warm, and he felt it all the way to his belly.
He walked to the door with her, realizing suddenly that he would probably have no occasion to see her again, and found himself saying, “It’s been my pleasure. And if there’s anything else I can help you with, please feel free to give me a call.”
She stopped in the doorway and gave him another of those dazzling smiles. “I just may take you up on that. Thank you!”
* * *
By the time Fiona got in her car after the meeting with H. Gideon, it was just six o’clock. Wicks Hollow was less than an hour away, but since it was almost the middle of October, it would be dark before she could get to the shop. Plus, she’d agreed to meet her friend Winona for a drink to celebrate her change of fortune—so to speak.
That made it an easy excuse to decide not to drive to her property until tomorrow—which was Friday, and would give her the whole weekend to spend in Wicks Hollow.
She realized she was strangely both nervous and relieved that she didn’t have to go there tonight and have her dreams either explode—or be realized. Either scenario seemed more than she could bear at the moment.
What if she stepped inside and hated the space? What if she got bad vibes from it?
What if it was full of junk, and H. Gideon Nath, the Third, had only said what he needed to say to get her to sign the paperwork so he could be done with the business?
What if it wasbeautifulinside, and amazing, and it called to her…but it was still filled with worthless junk?
What if it was a treasure trove from which she could create a successful life?
Her palms were damp and her insides churned as she navigated through the traffic to the little pub where she and Winona were meeting.
By the time she breezed in, Fiona had talked herself down from the internal frenzy.No sense worrying about it now. It’ll be what it’ll be. One day at a time. Worry about it tomorrow.
She was very good at putting problems and issues aside, mainly because she rarely was committed to anything long enough that a problem would be so important as to bother her.
This is going to be different, Fi.
I know, I know. Be quiet. Let me have one more night to myself. Consider it my bachelorette party, all right? My last crazy night before I have to be responsible.
“Hey, girl!” Winona rose and gave her a big hug, her dozens of shoulder-length beaded braids making a pleasant clinking sound near Fiona’s ear. “Well? Are you a business owner or not?”
“Oh, God, I am. I’mcommitted. I need a drink!” Fiona said with exaggerated desperation.
“Already got your favorite coming—that B-Cubed wheat beer you like.”
“The one with the cherry essence? You’re the best, Win. Thanks!” Fiona settled in her seat.
While they waited for their drinks to arrive, Fiona filled in her friend about the meeting with H. Gideon. After the long explanation, she gave a sigh. “I have a lot to learn, though—what I know about antiques would fit in my hand.”
“Your background should help a little bit there, though,” said Winona, sipping from the dark, coffee-scented stout she’d ordered.
“True.” Fiona had two undergraduate degrees: one in art history and one in interior design—an excellent example of her inability to make commitments. “At least I know the time periods and basic styles of furnishings,” she agreed, sipping her draft. “And as long as H. Gideon didn’t exaggerate the financial viability of the business…” She shrugged.
“Speaking of lawyers, you never got back to me on my text about next Tuesday,” Winona said.
