In 1985, I’d been in elementary school, deeply invested in Care Bears and completely unaware that somewhere in the universe, a guy named Brad in short shorts was cosmically destined to find me attractive. The magic clearly had a sense of humor.
The phone buzzed again. And again. I pressed myself against the brick wall of whatever building I’d taken shelter against and tried to breathe.
An elderly woman walking her dog gave me a wide berth.
Great. Now I was the crazy lady hyperventilating in public. This was exactly the kind of personal growth I’d hoped my forties would bring.
I peered around the corner. Brad had wandered off toward the fountain, where he appeared to be taking photos of pigeons with deep suspicion. Near him, a cluster of men stood around looking vaguely familiar and profoundly lost. The greaser from my porch was examining a Tesla like it might bite him. A guy in bell-bottoms was having what looked like an existential crisis in front of an ATM.
My phone buzzed. 863.
I couldn’t go to the coffee shop—I’d dated the owner’s nephew for three weeks in 2014, and the last thing I needed was him showing up looking like he had during our brief and ill-advised fling. I couldn’t go to the bookstore—I’d had a very intense eye-contact moment with the clerk back in 2020, and who knew if that counted as romantic potential to whatever insane magic was running my life.
I definitely couldn’t go to the winery. Valentina would take one look at the parade of confused men following me and fire me on the spot, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
I needed somewhere I’d never been. Somewhere with no romantic history. Somewhere?—
A man rounded the corner. Tall, dark hair, wearing a jacket that looked exactly like one Todd used to own.
Oh god. I didn’t wait to see if it was actually him. I bolted.
The nearest door was old, wooden, slightly ajar. I didn’t look at the sign. Didn’t care what kind of business it was. I just needed to not be on the street.
I pushed through the door and into darkness.
The smell hit me first.Old wood. Dust. Something faintly metallic, like pennies left in a drawer for decades. Beeswax and leather and the particular mustiness of things that had been loved by people who were now dead.
The light was dim—just a few lamps scattered around a space crammed with… everything. Furniture stacked on furniture. Paintings leaning against walls three deep. Boxes labeled in handwriting so old it had faded to whispers. A grandfather clock that wasn’t ticking stood sentinel by the door, its face frozen at 3:45. A taxidermied owl perched on a bookshelf, glass eyes following me with judgmental precision.
An antique shop. I’d fled into an antique shop.
And it wasmagnificent.
I’d never been much for old things—my apartment was strictly IKEA and Target, functional and forgettable—but this place felt like stepping into someone else’s memory. Every surface held something: a brass telescope with a cracked lens, a collection of ceramic dogs arranged in size order, a vintage typewriter with keys that looked like they’d written love letters and suicide notes and everything in between.
A music box sat open on a side table, its tiny ballerina frozen mid-pirouette. As I walked past, I could have sworn she turned her head to watch me.
I was definitely losing my mind.
“We’re closed.”
I whirled toward the voice. A man stood behind a cluttered counter at the back of the shop, watching me with an expression of absolute neutrality. Silver threaded through darkhair. Reading glasses pushed up on his forehead. A face that was handsome in the way of old photographs—the kind of handsome that took a moment to register and then refused to leave.
He did not look happy to see me.
“Your sign says open,” I managed.
“My sign is wrong.”
“Then why is your door unlocked?”
“Because I forgot to lock it.” He set down whatever he’d been examining—a small brass compass, I thought—and fixed me with a stare that could have frozen coffee. “A mistake I’m now regretting.”
Behind him, I noticed a vintage radio sitting on a shelf. It crackled softly, even though it wasn’t plugged in. The static sounded almost like laughter.
I opened my mouth to apologize, to explain, to make some kind of excuse?—
And then I realized something was different.
