Daniel nudged her. ‘Such a big name. A huge part of music history.’
‘I googled him just the other day when I came across his vinyl in the shop.’
‘I don’t remember logging it into the book.’
‘I logged it. I did wonder whether it was an original pressing as it was in such good condition.’
‘I wouldn’t think so. Quite a lot of vinyls are in good nick, as people tend to look after them. Now, what’s the plan for today?’
‘Sell more junk, and I’m going to look into Eliza Valentine. Try and see if there’s still a shop, a contact number.…’ She hesitated. ‘But there’s something else we need to talk about.’
Daniel glanced at her, his expression turning wary. ‘That sounds serious.’
‘I have to go back to London. I only took a week’s annual leave, and I’ve got a huge interview coming up, at one of the biggest gigs this year. The magazine’s arranged backstage passes for the whole team. It’s not something I can miss.’
Daniel took a sip of his coffee. ‘But you’re coming back?’ His voice held an edge of something. Hope? Uncertainty?
She hesitated, then said with a smile, ‘I can work remotely for a while. I’ll be home by the following weekend.’
His reaction was immediate. His eyes widened and a slow grin spread across his face.
‘What?’ she asked, baffled. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? I said I’ll be back by the weekend.’
‘No,’ he corrected, his grin widening. ‘You said you’d be “home”.’ Daniel looked insufferably pleased with himself. ‘I knew Puffin Island would get to you.’
She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure if it had been a slip of the tongue or if, somehow, without realising it, she was starting to feel exactly that way.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Afew hours later, Fern’s mouth fell wide open as she raised her eyebrows discreetly at Daniel. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening but all of a sudden No. 17 Curiosity Lane was packed. The place had likely never seen such a crowd! Fern leaned against the counter with her arms crossed and watched actual customers peering at trinkets, running fingers over old books and exclaiming over peculiar curiosities.
Daniel nudged her with his elbow. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he whispered, eyes wide. ‘I’ve never seen so many customers.’
Fern barely had time to shake her head before a group of young women clustered around Daniel, giggling and tossing their hair. One of them, a blonde with oversized sunglasses perched on her head, held up her phone. ‘Oh my God, are you the guy from that viral video? The antique shop hottie?’
Daniel blinked. ‘The what?’
‘Oh, he totally is,’ another woman chimed in. ‘I saw the TikTok last night. It’s all over Instagram, too. Someone said this shop is a hidden gem but mostly they just made comments about you.’
Daniel turned to Fern in horror. ‘What did you do?’
‘Me?’ she questioned. ‘You’re the one who uploaded the reels. It’s nothing to do with me unless you think I have a secret side hustle making thirst-trap videos of you polishing brass candlesticks?’
Daniel groaned, but the women were undeterred. One held out her phone, already poised for a selfie. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, fluttering her lashes.
‘Oh, uh, sure?’ Daniel said uncertainly, offering his most confused-but-obliging smile as the woman snapped the picture. The other women queued up instantly.
Fern rolled her eyes. ‘You do realise this means you’re officially an influencer now?’ she teased, watching as he awkwardly posed with another admirer. ‘Maybe you should start selling merch. “No. 17 Curiosity Lane Hottie” mugs? A calendar?’
‘You’re not helping. I hate everything about this,’ Daniel muttered through gritted teeth as yet another woman cooed over the charming old-time aesthetic of the shop.
Fern smirked. ‘Oh, you love it. You’re practically glowing. Maybe this is your true calling, charming the ladies while surrounded by musty books and creepy dolls.’
Ignoring her, Daniel turned back to his fans, who were now inspecting the shop’s oddities with an almost suspicious enthusiasm. ‘So,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘any of you actually interested in antiques?’
One woman picked up a rusted pocket watch and turned it over in her palm. ‘Ooh, what’s this?’
‘Victorian, late 1800s,’ Daniel said automatically. ‘Solid silver.’
