Gideon’s face heated. “Fiona Murphy, the woman who inherited the shop.”
Just as he said this, he looked away and happened to see a cloud of auburn hair, thick and curly, on a woman whose back was to him at a table across the room. His heart gave an unnatural, off-rhythm thud, then returned to its normal pace as he forced himself back to the meal.
So what if she was eating at the same restaurant?
At a table with another man.
After he’d kissed her—only hours ago.
His fingers tightened around his fork as a wave of memory careened over him. That damn kiss. He’d tried to forget about it, but that hadn’t worked. Gideon glanced in her direction again, just in time to see her shift and toss her hair over her shoulder—and he realized it wasn’t Fiona after all.
He relaxed, and looked back to find his grandfather and Iva looking at him expectantly.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he asked.
They glanced at each other, then at him. “No—you stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence,” Iva told him gently.
I did?He was damned if he could remember what he’d been saying.
“About this Fiona Murphy, who inherited the shop,” Iva said. She was suddenly watching him very closely. “The shop right here in Wicks Hollow, if I recall correctly. Up on Violet Way?”
Why did he feel like a bug under a microscope all of a sudden? His collar felt unexpectedly tight as he replied, “Yes. That’s the address.”
Then Iva cocked her head, looking very much like a little bird with her bright eyes…thinking. “Fiona Murphy…I wonder if she’s…” Her voice trailed off as she cocked her head to one side like an interested robin.
“What’s that, darling?” asked Gideon’s grandfather.
“Oh, mmm…nothing,” replied Iva in a faraway voice.
But there was a little curl to her smile and a speculative glint in her eyes that, for some inexplicable reason, made Gideon very nervous.
* * *
The following Friday morning, Fiona was humming “Good Day, Sunshine”when she let herself into the shop.
Over the last seven days, she’d enlisted Ethan, who was on sabbatical from the University of Chicago—along with her friends Winona, Tex, and Carl, who had come from Grand Rapids on their days off or in the evenings—to help her clean and reorganize the shop in preparation for its reopening. Even Gretchen had become marginally friendlier and less prone to swiping out with her claws—especially with Diana, on the one day she’d been able to get away from her law office to help.
Fiona and her friends had accomplished a surprising amount of work in the last week, and she had set the grand reopening for Tuesday: four days from now. TheGrand Rapids Presshad done a nice spread on her and the shop, which would be in this weekend’s Lifestyle section, and she was already getting calls and hits on a hastily-constructed website and social media platforms about Tuesday’s opening.
She felt as if she could actuallydothis.
Now, for the first time in a week, Fiona was alone when she stepped into her shop and closed the door behind her. She smiled, drawing in a deep, satisfied breath.
This experience was so much different than last Friday, the first time she’d stepped into the place.
No longer were there dust motes every time she moved, and gone was the musty smell of age—to be replaced by fresh lemon polish and a subtle hint of rosemary from the natural cleaning supplies she’d used. An essential oil diffuser had cast a cinnamon-eucalyptus blend into the air overnight to help eradicate the dull, dank scents. She’d replaced the brassy chimes with a more delicate and musical set she found much more pleasing to the ears—and had purchased at one of the shops in downtown Wicks Hollow. The proprietress had been thrilled to hear about the reopening of the store—which would be called Charmed Antiquity.
With the help of Carl, her friend with the antiques background, most of the stock had been priced and organized and she had a basic idea of what was worth dickering over, and what was worth selling at any price. She would be ready by Tuesday. No matter what.
She set her bag down and looked back into the depths of the shadowy shop and, with a little clutch of the heart, she saw:The lamp was on.
The lamp’s—she knew it had to bethelamp; the white one with the nubbly white base—glow was visible from the front of the store. Setting down her heavy leather bag, Fiona walked back slowly toward the little alcove, her heart thumping solidly, wildly, nauseatingly in her chest.
How?
She knew last night when she and Ethan had left, she’d turned off all the lights except for a small collection in the front windows to dissuade burglars.
So,how?
