She swallowed hard. ‘So, uh… what now?’
Daniel smirked. ‘I vote we sell more weird antiques.’
She rolled her eyes, but the warmth of his hands on her waist made it hard to be exasperated. ‘That’s your big takeaway from all this?’
‘Well,’ he mused, fingers brushing idly over the curve of her back, ‘that, and the fact that we’re both terrible at pretending we don’t want to do this again.’
She swallowed. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He tilted his head, his lips barely brushing hers again. ‘Unless you’d rather pretend this never happened?’
She thought about it for all of two seconds before shaking her head. ‘Not a chance.’
Daniel grinned. ‘Good.’ He kissed her again.
ChapterSixteen
Fern stretched out luxuriously, her body humming with the afterglow of an unforgettable night. The sales, the song and, oh, the sex. She bit her lip, grinning up at the ceiling. Who would have thought that a dusty old antiques shop on a tiny island could lead to a night like that? But as she shifted under the covers, she realised something was missing. Or rather, someone. Daniel wasn’t in bed. She sat up and listened. She could hear movement downstairs as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and threw back the curtains. The sun was shining and the view of the sea made her smile even more. As she turned around, she laughed. Daniel’s sweatshirt was draped haphazardly over the moose’s head mounted on the wall. She tugged on it, then slipped it over the top of her PJ’s, inhaling the faint, lingering scent of him as she padded barefoot downstairs.
Walking into No. 17 Curiosity Lane, she was amazed to see it was already open. The blinds had been drawn up and the door was ajar, the fresh morning breeze filtering into the shop. The first thing she noticed was items piled high on the desk, a chaotic assortment of trinkets, plates and things that, if Fern was being completely honest, probably belonged in the bin. Sitting amongst it all, was Daniel, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his oversized sweatshirt. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Making my fortune!’ Daniel declared grandly, tossing his arms wide as if he had just uncovered the lost treasures of the world. ‘Now, get yourself up and dressed. We have songs to write, content to upload and items to send to our buyers. I’ve drafted some songs to go along with these items and listed our sold items in the accounts book. We’re aiming to double yesterday’s takings today.’ He grinned and, before she could protest, he stretched an arm out and pulled her in close. The warmth of him, solid and reassuring, sent a flutter through her chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering just a second longer than necessary. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about today,’ he murmured.
Fern stayed nestled against him for a moment longer than she meant to. Last night had been fun, undeniably so. But this morning, reality was creeping back in. There was still the shop, still the uncertainty of what she was going to do with it, and, of course, her solicitor’s appointment. She felt a tiny twinge of guilt but told herself it was just an information-gathering exercise.
Shaking off the thought, she turned her attention to thefront door, where a bulging bin bag sat ominously on the doorstep. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing towards it.
Daniel barely spared it a glance. ‘More antiques. People just leave them outside like this is some kind of magical antique wishing well.’
‘It’s not a charity shop.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ he muttered, picking up an old pocket watch and inspecting it as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Fern stepped towards the door and dragged the bag inside, the plastic crinkling under her fingers. It was heavier than she expected, its contents shifting as she wrestled it across the floor. After she untied the knot and opened it, she stared. Inside, nestled in layers of crumpled tissue paper, was a wedding dress. The fabric, though aged, was delicate and intricate, lace cascading down in elegant patterns. The bodice was fitted, the skirt flowing like something out of a fairytale. Fern pulled it fully out of the bag and held it up. Its long train pooled over the shop floor. Pinned to the front of the dress was a note.
‘“Find the groom”,’ she said, reading it aloud. She handed the note to Daniel. ‘What do you make of this?’
‘This place gets weirder by the second.’ He examined the dress in her arms. ‘It looks like it’s from the 1960s. Expensive, too. But who would leave this here? It looks like it should actually be in a museum.’
‘You’re telling me someone deliberately left a priceless antique dress on the doorstep? With a cryptic note?’
‘Looks that way.’ Daniel examined the note. ‘Either that or it’s a practical joke? If we did find him, then what?’
‘Maybe he’s a celebrity, or maybe he left someone at the altar. How much do you think it’s worth?’
‘With the little bit of knowledge I learned from Matilda…’
‘You talked about wedding dresses with Matilda?’
‘You’d be surprised what we chatted about…’ He examined it closely. ‘I think this could fetch at least two thousand pounds.’
‘No way!’ Fern was amazed. ‘So it’s not the usual kind of junk you’ll find in here. Do you think it’s a sign?’
‘A sign someone no longer wants it?’
She shook her head. ‘A sign that this place can actually make money. I think we should investigate. After all, I’m a journalist.’
