“Anything you do is bound to be.” He looks around the space for a moment, then says, “Any chance you’re hiring?”
“What?”
“I have almost two decades of related experience. And references, if you need them.” Cal chuckles at my bemusement, and I realize that he sounds so much more relaxed than I remember him ever being back in Baltimore. “I’m selling my half of Virtu to Inés, and Harold has someone interested in renting the apartment.”
My jaw feels like it might unlatch itself and drop onto the floor. “But you love that place,” I say, then struggle to articulate it further in my shock. “It’s…and you…what?”
“What you said in your letter about holding on to things that no longer suit me…I was upset you thought I could ever feel that way about you. But after you left, I realized that’s how I was starting to feel about the business. I thought staying there forever was what Graham expected of me, and so I expected it of myself. He never meant for it to feel like an obligation, though, and that’s what it had become. And so, while I’m immensely grateful for everything and everyone Virtu gave me—especially how it led me to you—I think it’s time to move on. Make some new memories. Hopefully with you. Here. If you’ll have me.” His fingertips absently trace the waistband of my jeans. “Kind of banking on it, actually. Because I really do need a job.”
I cannot believe he gave up the store, gave up Graham’s apartment. If I didn’t already believe it before when he said he wanted to create something new with me, I’m definitely convinced now.
“Hmm, I might be able to find some stuff for you to do around here,” I say. “What would you say are your greatest strengths?”
He slips his palm to the back of my neck and kisses me again, even more sensually than before. It turns me molten, my entire body focused on the liquid heat gathering low in my stomach, between my legs.
“Wow. You are really acing this interview so far,” I say when we pull apart.
“Counter here sturdy?” His pupils are huge and his breath is ragged, and I’ve never wanted anyone or anything more.
“Extremely,” I answer. I’ve been sitting atop it daily since I got the keys.
“Good.” Cal leads me over and hoists me up, lips traveling over my face and my jaw and my neck all the while. His fingers slip under the hem of my T-shirt and brush against the sides of my stomach. “What’s the name of this place anyway?” he asks. “I didn’t see a sign out there yet.”
I thought long and hard about the name in the weeks leading up to actually renting the space and filing the paperwork for my antique and curiosity shop. One contender just would not go away, no matter how many times I told myself it couldn’t work. Something about it seemed like a jinx, especially given what happened between Cal and me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how, despite feeling like a possibly foolish pursuit, going in search of something seemingly elusive can also sometimes lead to amazing, life-changing discoveries you never could have expected. I grin as I slide my fingers into his hair, pulling him even closer. “It’s called Wild Goose Chase.”
I hope his responding surprised laughter is the only music that will get stuck in my head for the rest of my life. It’s a sound I’ll never get tired of hearing.
New York, New York— August 1961
Vera really shouldhave learned by now that there was no such thing as a quick errand when her uncle came along. She’d been staying with her grandfather’s brother, John, and his wife, Ora, for the last few weeks to acclimate to the big city before the start of her freshman year at Barnard. In that time, she could count on one hand the number of times Great-Uncle John had managed to go to a place directly and then come right back without delay. Aunt Ora claimed that the problem was that her husband used to be a journalist before he became a full-time illustrator for scientific texts, and that he never quite lost the quiet curiosity that made him so good at his former profession.
So yes, Vera might have predicted that Uncle John would stop and talk to these random men unloading a truck outside of the American Museum of Natural History. Of course he would, and there was really no point in protesting or attempting to redirect his interest. The sooner she let him chat, the sooner theycould get back to the apartment and the sooner she could start picking out an outfit for tonight; she and Aunt Ora were to see a preview of a new show at the 46th Street Theatre, and she’d rarely been as excited for anything in her life.
“You have Washington, DC, plates on that truck, I see,” Uncle John said to one of the men, who was resting his elbow on a wooden crate as he enjoyed a foul-smelling cigarillo. “My wife and I lived there for a time until her work brought us here in the twenties.”
“Before my time,” the man mumbled, the cigarillo bobbing. His thick brows rose as he looked past the elderly John Otis Morse and spotted Vera. “Wait, that her there? Your wife?”
Uncle John laughed. “Oh, goodness, no. This is my nephew’s youngest daughter. She’s staying with us until school starts. She’s going to Barnard in the fall,” he bragged, and Vera felt her face heat with embarrassment.
“Ah, congrats,” the man said, clearly not knowing anything about it except that it was apparently something relatives seemed to find worth telling strangers on the street.
This could have marked the end of the conversation, but instead her great-uncle said, “When my wife and I lived in Washington, she worked as a naturalist at the Smithsonian.”
The man suddenly seemed more interested. “Really? That happens to be where we’re moving these things from.”
“Yes, she was an ornithologist. Studied birds. Mostly retired now, though, of course.”
“No kidding,” the man said, standing up straight and taking the cigarillo from his mouth to drop it on the ground and squash it with the heel of his work boot. “Theseare from the bird department. They’re opening a new one here, apparently, and theSmithsonian people are giving the museum a permanent loan of some of their excess, uh, what’s it called? Spes’mins.”
“What an amazing, amazing coincidence!” Uncle John exclaimed. “I wonder if any are specimens that Ora collected herself. I’m sure she would love to come see them once they’re on display. Say hello to some old friends, so to speak.”
The tone of Uncle John’s voice had ever so slightly changed in a way that caught Vera’s attention. She might have been hoping for a quick escape earlier, but now she was intrigued by his uncharacteristic exuberance. Her curiosity heightened even more so when he gestured to the clipboard resting atop the crate and continued, “Is that an inventory? Would you mind if I took a quick peek, to see if I recognize anything I can tell her about?”
The man glanced around, then shrugged. “Sure. Guess there’d be no harm in that.” He handed Uncle John the clipboard.
“Murphy!” someone called from the cab of the truck.
“I’m coming!” the man hollered back. “Just put that back on top the crate when you’re done. If I lose that list my boss will blow his friggin’ top.” He remembered Vera’s presence and said, “Ah, pardon me, miss,” and left them alone.
