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Ellie follows my finger.

The frame is propped against the back wall of a vintage furniture booth, with curved brass rails and ornate little details that make it look like it came straight out of some rich grandmother’s house where nobody was allowed to touch anything.

Ellie lowers her sunglasses to get a better look. “Dark floral wall?”

I’m already walking toward it. “Maybe. Or the black-paneled set with deep red sheets.”

“You don’t own deep red sheets.”

“I will.”

Ellie nods, pulling her phone out of her purse. “I’ll add them to the list.”

I reach the booth and run my hand over the tall headboard. The brass has enough age on it to keep it from looking shiny and fake, and the frame has exactly the right amount of drama without looking like something I’d have to warn clients not to touch.

The vendor looks up from his folding chair.

I gesture at the piece. “How much for this?”

He gets to his feet and names a price while I reach for my wallet, not wanting to try and haggle. I don’t want to risk losing out on this. Ellie catches up beside me and takes my blackberry iced tea before I can drop it.

“Will it even fit in your SUV?” she asks.

I glance back at the headboard and eye its size. “Not a chance.”

“I can deliver,” the vendor says.

“To my studio?” I ask, giving him the address.

“Sure can.”

“Perfect. Sold.”

He laughs and reaches for the clipboard sitting beside his chair. “I had a feeling.”

By the time we finish arranging delivery to Bombshell for tomorrow afternoon, there’s a SOLD tag hanging from one of the brass rails.

Ellie hands my tea back and looks at the bed again. “Okay, I can already see the vision.”

“Right?” I take a drink as we head back into the crowd and push my sunglasses back up my nose. “It’s gonna look fucking hot. And Minji’s going to kill me for making her move the furniture again.”

Ellie laughs as we start down the crowded row of stalls.

The Indie Market has taken over several blocks of Central, and the street is packed with vendor tents selling vintage furniture, handmade jewelry, paintings, clothes, candles, and soap. A reggae cover band is playing near the food trucks, and there are dogs everywhere—under tables, stretched out in patches of shade, stopping every few feet to sniff each other.

I love it here.

We’ve been walking for a while now, and my feet are killing me.

I shift my weight and rub the ache above my right hip. Being five months pregnant and wearing platform sandals to be on my feet all afternoon probably wasn’t the best idea, but I’m still getting used to things in my body being different than they’ve always been.

Ellie glances down at my hand. “You need to sit.”

“I know. But I need that giant pretzel we passed first.” My mouth waters just thinking about it.

“The one the size of a steering wheel?” She takes another sip of her matcha.

“Yeah, with cheese dip.”