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Molly bursts out laughing. “What are you talking about?”

“This town looks like a Hallmark movie waiting to happen,” I whisper conspiratorially.

Molly uses her shoulder to shove me, but she’s laughing under her breath. A blonde woman dressed in a red velvet dress walks past us. She smiles and says good morning; Molly and I smile back at her.

Once she’s out of earshot, I lean in toward Molly’s ear. Lowering my voice, I say, “Oh my gosh, that was Holly.” I spot a man across the street with a briefcase wearing a long wool trench coat. “And don’t look now, but there’s her enemy: Christopher Christmas-Balls.”

She snickers despite herself. “Brooks,” she warns.

“He wants to take the land out from under her. But little does he know that she’s going to end up under him.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively.

“Brooks!” Molly gasps, pulling her arm from mine and slapping my shoulder with her mittened hand. “I’ll never be able to look at these people again!” she whisper-yells.

I laugh at her tiny hand slapping at me, and she starts laughing too. We come to a small antique shop and Molly steps in front of the door, blocking me from entering.

“Can I trust you to behave yourself? This is my favorite shop and I don't want to get banned.”

I place my hand over my heart. “Scout’s honor.”

She rolls her eyes but moves so I can open the door. We walk inside and the warm air from the antique store smells like cinnamon. A little old lady perks up from behind the weathered, wooden counter. “Molly Vanderbilt! I’ve been expecting you to pop in, what with your sister’s wedding and all.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Nikolas!”

I shoot Molly a knowing look at the woman’s last name. But she ignores me and continues.

“I’ve been excited to see what you’ve got since last Christmas,” Molly says with an excited glimmer in her eyes. I love seeing her in her old-lady-antiquing element like this.

The tiny woman grins. “Head to the back. You’ll love the new tea sets.”

Molly squeals and walks down the long aisle to the very back of the store. She disappears behind an arrangement of Victorian dressers.

“So,” I lean against the counter and give Mrs. Nikolas my signature smile. “Where might I find some spoons?”

Her eyes light up with recognition, shifting toward the back of the store where Molly disappeared. “Ahh, for her collection? You’re a good one.”

“The way to a woman’s heart is through antiques.” I wink.

She sighs dreamily. “Music to my ears. Come this way.” Mrs. Nikolas waves for me to follow her and opens a door behind the counter that leads to a messy storage room. “I haven’t even put these out yet, but they’re perfect for Molly.”

I follow closely behind her as she walks to a wooden case on top of some dusty boxes and opens it. Inside the box, nestled in a dark blue velvet, are two spoons. Both silver and polished, one has an ivory cameo on the handle and the other has an intricately carved M.W. on the handle. I know they’re just some random person’s initials from long ago … but the first thought that pops into my head is Molly Windell.

Chapter 18

Molly

I’m knee-deep in delicate tea towels and hand-painted china when Brooks clears his throat to announce his presence. “Do you need a hand there?”

Turning, I see his arms are extended, so I hand him two of the tea cups I’m currently juggling. “Thanks,” I say with a smile. “Where have you been?”

“Just chatting with Mrs. Nikolas. She loves me.”

Unsurprised by her falling in love with Brooks, or by his cockiness, I shake my head at his comment and continue looking at the china display. “It’s so hard to choose. But they won’t all fit in my suitcase.”

He chuckles at my indecisiveness but holds the cups for me without complaint. Which is more than Todd ever did. He refused to even go antiquing with me. He said, and I quote, “Why buy old crap when we have the money to buy whatever we want?”

His spoiled and entitled attitude didn’t bother me when we got together in high school, but it was something that became irritating over the years. The more I interacted with people outside of my and Todd’s families, the more I realized I didn’t want to be that way.

“Do you hate antiquing?” I ask Brooks before I can stop myself.