“Say no more.” Ange picked up her pace. I had to trot for a few yards to catch up with her, and so did Reina and Harper.
With the precious lamp still wrapped and safely tucked away in Ange’s room, Harper took us to a secluded spa. One soothing facial and a hot stone massage later, I felt so relaxed, I’d have agreed to anything. The rest of the coven seemed to share that sentiment.
“I’m floating,” Ange declared when we stepped out of the changing room. “Unless our esteemed Bex has put us all under a spell, I say we make this spa a tradition.”
“We will.” Reina rolled her shoulders. “I feel ten years younger already.”
I did a deep lunge, expecting to hear my joints creek. Nothing. I grinned. “This is magic alright, but definitely not mine.” I no longer minded that Cosmo’s good witch credo forbade me making myself over with a spell. A trip to the spa was just as good.
We stopped at a Mexican fusion restaurant for chili and tacos, and then we went back to the hotel. Before I fell asleep, I realized that not only had I forgotten to worry about my familiar’s well-being or Ms. Vine, I was looking forward to tomorrow. It would be nice to see that my efforts teaching Candice a few things had paid off, no matter what had happened between us outside those duties. I chuckled to myself. Had I just mastered the art of making wine from sour grapes?
Chapter 4
Ange drummed on my door while I was still in my bathrobe and slightly damp from my shower. “Can I come in?”
I opened.
She beamed at me and hugged me so tight, I could barely breathe. “You’re like Wonder Woman and Aladdin rolled into one.”
It took me a few seconds to put two and two together. “You unwrapped the lamp.”
“I slept with it next to me, wrapped in a gazillion layers. The lamp, not me. I swaddled it like a baby.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I grabbed clean clothes and made for the bathroom to get dressed. “Go on talking, I can hear you.”
“That’s fine, I’ll see you at breakfast anyway. I just wanted to let you know how happy I am.”
I heard the door close behind her and high-fived myself.
At the antiques’ fair, we split up, so I could keep my appointment with Candice. I didn’t want her to think that I needed my friends as backup to deal with her.
She was already waiting, in a state of excitement, or was it a hint of agitation? Did I now have to put her at ease and demonstrate that I was far from a woman scorned? If anything, Candice had freed me up to live the life I was meant to live on my own terms (or Cosmo’s, but that was beside the point).
“Ready?” I asked. “Or do you need a cup of coffee first?”
“Whatever works for you. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.” She held a hand-written list. “I’ve earmarked half a dozen items, half for the home staging, and half for Rick and my – for the business.”
“Do you have pictures of the place you’re doing the staging for?”
Together, we scrolled through her photographs. They were enough to give me a good idea of the size and style, and what kind of buyers would be attracted to the home.
Candice had done her homework. The first item she showed me this morning was a large freestanding stone resin bathtub in matte black which would add a touch of luxury to outdoor patios too small for a hot tub. The price was reasonable too. Next came a set of tub chairs and a vintage card table. They needed a thorough clean and a few repairs, but nothing major.
A 1950s cocktail cabinet I nixed. Underneath the fresh coat of paint, I detected signs of woodworm.
The best find, one that I’d have been proud of myself, was a vintage chest in rosewood, with intricate carving on the lid. I suspected it had once formed part of a dowry and held the complete linen for a household. True, it had suffered a bit of damage. When I opened the lid, I noticed that the hinges needed replacing, and the woodwork needed some attention too. Unusually, the sides were lined with fabric that had seen better days. Yet it was a great piece of craftsmanship, and I could sense that there was a place already meant for it.
“What do you think?” Candice asked.
“I like it. The only issue is, you need a good restorer for the chairs, and card table, and for this chest. I used to do all this myself, so I don’t have a recommendation for you.”
She bit her lip. “That’s what I thought. I was wondering, if maybe you’d take on the job? I’m sure you’d give us a fair quote, and there’s nobody who comes even close to your talent.” She sounded sincere, another point that made me look at her more favorable than I had since the day she officially blew up my marriage.
“You want me to restore the pieces?” I took a step back and bumped into the Mercedes owner, who apologized to me for my own oversight.
“I don’t know.” I ran my fingers over the chest. It felt warm and silky and comforting. “Okay. But you’ll have to have the items shipped to Bert’s Antiques’ Barn in Willowmere.”
Her face lit up. “Absolutely. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
