There was a story to them—one that Serenity hadn’t divulged in its entirety. All Wendy knew was that in the beginning of their relationship, he’d used the flower to demonstrate his admiration for Serenity.
Just staring at the vase gave her chills. From what she knew, Reese still gave her lotus flowers on a weekly basis. When they weren’t in season, he had them shipped. If Wendy had to guess, they’d be in Serenity’s bouquet.
She stepped toward the vase, hands reaching to lift it from the pedestal that held it when suddenly it was snatched out of reach.
A gasp ripped from her throat and she startled, her eyes locking with the devil himself.
Tripp grinned wickedly at her and her insides coiled like a venomous snake, ready to strike.
“That’s mine,” she snarled, lunging for the vase.
He took a step backward, and held the vase out of reach. “Not according to this receipt.” He held up a yellow tag with a condemning word in bold, black print.
Sold.
Wendy ground her jaw. She’d wandered through this estate sale for the better part of an hour and she hadn’t seen him here. His truck—an obvious red Chevrolet she seemed to be seeing everywhere these days—hadn’t been out front. Where had he come from?
Clenching and unclenching her hands, she glowered at him. “I saw it first.” It was a weak argument and she knew it.
Tripp merely chuckled. “Unfortunately, that assessment isn’t quite accurate either. I was here two hours ago and when I saw it, I insisted I would be purchasing it. The only problem was they didn’t have a firm price on it yet.”
“Then why didn’t they put a sold sign on it?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to keep poking around here for a little while longer. You never know, there might be more treasures hiding where we least expect them.” Tripp sauntered off.
She dug her hands into her hair, stifling a scream of frustration. That had been her find. And something told her that Tripp had been lying about picking it out beforehand. For all she knew, he’d been lying in wait just so he could get the upper hand. She stalked out of the building and into the sunny afternoon, seething with fury.
The red truck called to her and without thinking she moved in that direction. She needed to put him in his place—practically craving blood. But what could she do? Wendy refused to damage property, though it would be easy to slash a tire or run a key along that perfect paint job.
One glance at the large house behind her ensured no one was watching. The temptation to do something to his truck was almost too much. But then a better idea filtered into her mind and she immediately pulled out her phone.
After she made a quick call, she headed back to the house.
She found Tripp quickly enough. He was scrolling through his phone while lingering in the parlor. Propped up against a piece of furniture, he looked every bit as delicious as he’d ever been. Her weakness didn’t do her any favors as she let her hungry gaze scan over his built frame, but then he glanced up and his eyes locked with hers.
That infuriating smirk tugged at his lips and she immediately glanced toward the vase. But it wasn’t the vase that snagged her attention. Her eyes rounded and she all but floated toward him.
Tripp picked up the vase as if he thought she was going to steal it from him but at this point she didn’t care. Her fingers slid along the antique writing desk complete with a typewriter. The set was breathtaking and in much better shape than it probably should have been. Normally, this would be a set that she’d sell in her shop. Just the thought of letting someone else take it had her stomach knotting uncomfortably.
With shaking fingers, she lifted the price tag and all at once she felt sick to her stomach. There was no way she could afford this. Sure, if she was going to turn it around and sell it, she might be able to rationalize making the purchase. Unfortunately, it was too much of a risk. Without the guarantee of a buyer, she’d be out of more money than she was comfortable.
A shiver ran through her body as she lightly caressed the keys of the typewriter.
“You gonna keep teasing it or actually marry it?” Tripp mused, laughter in his voice.
She stiffened, finally remembering she wasn’t alone. Her eyes shot arrows at him and she yanked her hand away. It had been long enough. Chances were good that if they were to head outside in the next five minutes, Tripp would see the consequences of his rude behavior.
Wendy folded her arms. “I’m surprised. You want to make fun of me for having an appreciation for beauty like this desk and the typewriter… but you also have a strange sort of love for inanimate objects.”
Tripp snorted. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Are you telling me you don’t baby that truck out there? It’s one of the nicest ones in town.” Was she mistaken? Or was that pride in his eyes? Was he glad she noticed?
“Of course I baby it. That truck is top of the line. And worth every penny.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I hope the tow-driver knows just how precious it is?—”
“What?” he snapped, charging for the exit before she finished her sentence.
