Chapter 7
Zoe wandered into the antique furniture stall at the weekend market, sipping her iced coffee.
“What are we looking for exactly?” her sister asked.
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
“That’s very helpful,” Gabby said. “I’m going to go look at t-shirts.”
Zoe gazed heavenward and again wondered what made her tell her sister her plans for the day. She’d mentioned shopping and weekend market and her sister had not only invited herself along, but drove over two hours to do it. She’d wanted to “see for herself” that Zoe was okay.
She loved her family but as the youngest, they had a tendency to baby her. Especially now, after the divorce.
She’d had a successful career in the Air Force and was starting her own business. She’d been to war, for crying out loud. Well, not really. She’d been to Iraq and Afghanistan and even though she hadn’t been shooting at bad guys, it had sucked and completely changed her whole outlook on life.
But none of that mattered to her family. They viewed her decision to separate from the military and follow her passion to be nothing more than a whim. A lot of people would argue getting out of the service after ten or more years was wasted effort, but she didn’t see it that way. Getting out was the opportunity to do what she wanted for herself. Not because the Air Force told her she had to or because she was following along after someone else’s career aspirations.
The bookstore was for her. She didn’t have the words to explain why it was so important, she just needed her family to be supportive.
She squeezed between a large frame and a standing lamp. She didn’t expect to find anything, but she’d thought that before. Her knowledge of antiques was a big, shallow pool ofnada. She couldn’t look at something and know when it was made or how much it was worth. It could be two years old or two hundred years old. What she saw was the story. She imagined the people who used it; the kids who scratched their names into the top of an old school desk; the family who sat around a dining room table; the woman who set her bookmarked novel on the small bedside table. When she looked at a battered piece of furniture, she didn’t see the dings or neglect, she saw the finished product—and its new story.
It was the same with her bookstore. She could see it in her mind’s eye. Muted colors and soft lighting. Comfortable chairs that invited people to sit and read. Dark cherry bookcases filled with books waiting to be picked next. She’d been enthralled with the idea of a private library ever since she’d seen the movieDangerous Beauty,and while she didn’t need to turn to prostitution to have access to books, there were times the idea seemed as outrageous and she second-guessed herself. Then she looked at her business plan and went over her checklists and everything righted itself.
Her goal was in sight. All she needed to do was follow the path she’d laid out to reach it.
A small, yellow table caught her eye. Moving the basket of tchotchkes from the top, she knelt down next to it. The edges were chipped, revealing several layers of paint. It needed to be stripped and refinished, but it was well-made and would fit nicely between the two leather seats she’d found last month before she’d left Arizona.
“Can I help you find something?”
Zoe stood and found an older woman next to her.
“How much do you want for the table?”
“It’s a nice piece of furniture,” the woman said.
Hmm… She was either getting ready to try to swindle Zoe or she was hoping for a good haggle. Either way, she had no idea what she was getting into. Zoe’s mother had once made a carpet vendor in Izmir cry and she was her mother’s daughter.
* * *
Ridinga euphoric high from getting a good price for the table, she found Gabby in a stall full of tourist trinkets and t-shirts.
“Can’t you find these in Charlotte?” she asked.
“These say Haven Springs on them. The only ones I can find in Charlotte say Charlotte on them.”
Zoe’s stomach rumbled. They’d been wandering the outdoor flea market for a while and she was hungry.
“Are you ready to eat? I told Elba we’d have lunch at the cafe.”
“Shoot! What time is it? I told Alex I’d be home around five.” Forgetting she was holding her almost empty frappuccino cup, Gabby tilted her hand to look at her watch.
“Don’t—!”
“Ahh!”
She righted the cup, dribbling a light brown stream of liquid across a half a dozen or more stacks of t-shirts.
Zoe stared, her mouth agape.
