by J. L. Berg
My stomach turned as I thought of it now.
Look straight ahead, Elle.
Don’t think about the mailbox.
Or the young, blonde woman walking out of the house … wait, what?
My feet faltered, and I nearly tripped.
There was a woman in my house.
It’s not your house anymore, I reminded myself.
I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help but notice how familiar she seemed with it all. The way she stepped off the threshold and locked the door with ease, tucking the set of keys into her purse without thought. She waved to Mr. Flannigan next door, who was watering his award-winning roses. I watched in horror as he smiled and gave a friendly wave back.
My throat burned, and my eyes stung.
I thought back to that moment at the funeral when Reed’s lips parted, and those unspoken words sat frozen in time.
I’d always assumed he was waiting for the perfect time to say I’m sorry or I’ll never stop loving you, but in reality, perhaps he was just trying to muster the courage to tell me the truth.
He’d met someone.
He’d moved on. It seemed there’d been a lot of that going on lately.
Suddenly not in the mood for coffee, my stomach turning more sour by the second, I turned and bolted for the antique store. I didn’t bother checking to see if the mystery woman saw me.
There was a reason I never walked down this street.
Too many memories.
Too much pain.
And right now, I’d had enough of both.
I was walking so fast, my escape from the little white house my top priority, that I nearly ran into him.
When the sun caught that familiar dark hair, my heart sank to my feet. Could this day get any worse?
“What are you doing here, Re—”
“Are you going to change the name?” the man asked, turning around to reveal it wasn’t my cheating ex at all, as I’d thought.
It was his older brother, Sawyer.
Not a vast improvement, but at least I could delay the uncomfortable who’s that woman you’re hooking up with conversation just a little bit longer.
Hell, with some stealthy dodging and weaving, I might be able to avoid it for a long time. Maybe forever.
“What are you doing here, Sawyer?” I asked as he stepped aside to allow me to unlock the store. “And what do you mean, am I going to change the name?”
He followed me in, his eyes lingering on me as I moved. It always unnerved me how much the Gallagher brothers looked alike. Same build, same chiseled jawline, and same mesmerizing green eyes.
Unnerved maybe wasn’t the right word, but I’d definitely noticed it, growing up.
As much as I’d tried not to.
I forced myself to look away and look busy, still confused as to why he was here. I hadn’t seen my ex-brother-in-law in a while, not since Reed and I were together. Sure, I’d seen him around, but face-to-face?
It’d been a long time. We had never been close.
“Your folks named the place Timeless Treasures, didn’t they?”
I nodded.
“So, now that the place is yours, are you going to give it a new name? Something flashy and updated, like maybe The Retro Emporium?”
I really hoped the blank look on my face told him exactly what I thought of that name suggestion. Just in case it didn’t though, I answered, “That’s truly terrible. Did that take long to think up?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Not too long, no.”
“So, you heard about the change in ownership then?” I asked, finally putting two and two together. I’d wondered how long it would take for my mother’s departure to make it around town.
“Yeah. How are you holding up with everything? I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good guy.”
I nodded. “I’m okay,” I replied. “We were prepared for him to pass, so it made it easier.”
That was a lie. It hadn’t helped. Not at all. I still missed him every damn day. But I’d found that most people didn’t actually want a straightforward answer. Most people didn’t want to know that grief was so consuming that it hurt down to the marrow of your soul, and most days, it was a struggle to get out of bed. But you did every day because going through the motions, keeping yourself busy, that was the only thing preventing you from being swallowed by it.
“And your mom leaving?” he pressed. “I know you two were close.”
I swallowed, unprepared for his pointed questions. “She needed a change,” I answered, using her words when my own were failing.
I watched as he moved about the front of the store, checking out random things as he went. He picked up one of Candace’s mugs and read the caption—Happy Fall, Y’all—and smiled to himself before placing it back on the counter. Normally, this behavior wouldn’t bother me. I was a storeowner after all, and customers browsing was usually a good thing.
But Sawyer was no regular customer, and I had a feeling he wasn’t here to buy himself a new coffee mug.
“So, why are you here, Sawyer? I don’t believe you mentioned that.” I leaned against the counter, trying my best not to stare.
It’d always been difficult not to stare when it came to Sawyer Gallagher. Growing up, I’d done a good job of ignoring him, but now that he was here, I couldn’t look away.
It was incredibly annoying.
His eyes spun toward the back of the store, and he pointed. “How do your rental spaces work?”
His question confused me.
“Why?” I asked. “Gallagher Construction into dealing antiques now?”
He chuckled under his breath. “No, nothing like that. Just a side project I’ve been working on lately.”
Clearly, he wasn’t forthcoming with the information, and one of us needed to be, so I decided to treat him like any potential client looking to rent space in the store and lay out the basics.
“We have a limited number of booths or spaces available to rent. They’re mostly used by local collectors or people trying to make a profit off their inheritance. The fee is three hundred a month, and the rental term is six months at a time. For each piece you sell, we take six percent.”
He nodded his head, which seemed to be processing at a quantum level as he paced around the floor. “And do you limit the products to just antiques?”
I looked around, my eyebrows raised. “Well, you are in an antique store.”
“Yes, but this coffee mug isn’t an antique,” he argued, picking up the same cup he’d been eyeing before.
I huffed in frustration. “No, but Candace is an exception. Her products all stay by the register and front counter and are limited. Besides, they sell like crazy.”
“So, wouldn’t it be rational to assume that if there were products like these in the store, you might sell more?”
I rose from my hunched position at the counter and walked a little closer. “Are you here on behalf of Candace, or is there something you actually wanted?”
That dimpled grin I remembered so much stretched across his face. “Candace can fight her own battles. I’m here for me. I want a booth,” he stated. “But I don’t want to sell antiques.”
“And what exactly are you planning on selling?”
“Custom furniture.”
My mouth gaped open. “Furniture?”
Had he not noticed the abundance of furniture we already had lying around here?
“I told you, I have my own side project going. And it’s not that much of a stretch. I am a general contractor. I’m good with my hands.”
“Okay, you’ve got me there.” I tried not to look at the hands in question. “But why come to me? Why not throw up a website or go to a crafts fair?”
“I have a website. But it’s gone nowhere,” he explained, pulling out his phone and stepping next to me to show me.
With him this close, I could smell his aftershave, or maybe it was his soap. Whatever it was, it smelled a little too good.
I immediately grabbed the phone out of his hand and began scrolling through the gallery of photos.
“These are actually really good,” I said, not even remotely covering the note of surprise in my tone.
“Thanks,” he answered with a laugh. “Does that mean you’ll let me sign a lease?”
I gave the photos one last look before handing the phone back.
“I’m sorry, Sawyer,” I said. “But that’s just not what we do. We sell fine antiques—just antiques. That’s the way it’s always been. I hope you understand.”
I hated seeing the optimism in his eyes dissipate as he walked out the door, but I knew it was for the best.
Seeing him should have hurt. It should have reminded me of the pain his brother had caused.
But it didn’t.
And for that reason, he needed to stay away.
I was done with the Gallagher family—all of them.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was keeping myself busy.
You were never truly alone if you had something to do, right? And I had a lot to do. Especially since my mom’s departure had left a giant-ass mess in the childhood home that was now officially mine.
Mine.
It all still felt a little weird to me.
When I’d moved back to this place a year ago, my heart still broken and my life in pieces, I’d thought it would be a temporary thing, that I’d stay just long enough to get back on track. But soon, the boxes that I’d stacked into the corner of my old room were slowly unpacked, and I’d found a rhythm and a place here.
Taking care of my parents had been exactly what I needed.
But now, it seemed I was here to stay, so I guessed I’d better clean the place up.
Deciding I wasn’t quite ready for anything to do with my mom’s room and definitely not ready to tackle my dad’s things, I went back to the guest room. Since my mom had dropped the moving bomb a week and a half ago, neither of us had been back in this room, and it had been left untouched since.
The photos, the boxes, my nana’s journals… It all sat just as it had that night, like a little time capsule immortalizing our last moments together before everything had changed. I couldn’t help but follow the small path I’d made that night, running my fingers across the boxes.
I’d never asked my mom what had caused her outburst of energy that night. Why she’d suddenly decided to rummage through my dad’s shirts and her mother’s old boxes. Had she been looking for something? Had she just needed something to do to keep her busy? Or had she just needed to be close to the ones she’d lost?
Suddenly, I knew it was the latter.
Sitting in this old house, feeling the emptiness of it, I reached out for my grandma’s journal, needing my own lifeline, and I slowly bent back the pages.
Monday, May 17, 1993
Mostly sunny
High 70, Low 52
I made rhubarb pie today and washed a few loads. Went outside and transplanted some things in the garden. After dinner, I went to the senior center to work on our quilt. I walked ten blocks after supper and took William the pie.
My memory from my childhood was good.
Well, good enough for a thirty-three-year-old. But my nana had lived in the Midwest, and our visits with her had been few and far between, so trying to remember everyone she’d interacted with on a daily basis was difficult.
This was the second entry I’d encountered that mentioned William. Flipping through several more pages, I saw his name many more times—much more than my grandfather’s name—and it got me wondering … Who the heck was this guy?
There was only one person who knew for sure. Well, two. But I knew calling my Aunt Sally wouldn’t exactly be a short conversation. Plus, the nosy part of me wanted to know how my mom was doing in her perfect new life.
Has she settled? Is it everything she hoped it would be?
Does she miss me?
Pulling out my phone, I nearly hung up before I finished dialing.
What if she didn’t want to talk to me?
Did I want to talk to her?
Maybe I should …
But after the second ring, the decision was made for me.
“Hello?” Her voice was familiar and warm.
“Hi,” I replied, uncertain where to go from there.
“How are you, Ellie?” I smiled faintly at the nickname. She was the only one who ever called me that.
“Good,” I answered. “I’m good. The store is good. Everything’s good.”
Jeez. That was a lot of goods for one breath.
“That’s … good.”
Silence followed, something that was foreign to our usual conversations.
“Um, how are you doing?” I finally said. “Are you settling in okay?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Although I do miss it there.”
My lips pursed together as anger and resentment began to creep up.
“So, anyway,” I said, “I had a question for you.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“I was going through some of the things in the guest bedroom and came across Nana’s journals from the other night.”
“Oh gosh, I guess we did leave that room in a bit of a mess, didn’t we?”
I wanted to point out that it was mostly her, but I let it go. “Yeah. But it’s fine. It’s my mess to deal with now. But the reason I’m calling is, I wanted to ask you about some of the journal entries. Grandma mentions a William several times. Who is that?”
“Oh, that was her neighbor, I believe. She used to care for him. She’d bring him food, run errands for him, that sort of thing.”
I found myself nodding as she spoke. “That makes sense. She does mention bringing him pie and such—”
As I was speaking, I heard the doorbell ring.
“Oh, I gotta go, Mom. Someone is at the door.”
“Okay. Talk to you soon? Don’t be a stranger.”
“Sure, I won’t.”
But even as I was pressing End on my cell phone, I knew that was a lie. Something had changed, and I wasn’t the only one who felt it.
With my grandmother’s journal still tucked tightly against my chest, I briskly walked down the hall toward the front door, all the while wondering to myself who the heck could be ringing my doorbell at this time of night.
And then I realized that “this time of night” was actually six thirty.
Wow, I truly was becoming the most boring person on the planet.
Setting the journal down on the coffee table in the front sitting room, I quickly checked myself in the mirror by the door, finally understanding why my mom had put it there in the first place. Happy enough with my appearance, I reached for the door, fully intent on offering up my best smile to whatever neighbor was waiting on the other side.
Instead, I found myself face-to-face with Sawyer Gallagher… who was just about the last person I wanted to see.
Well, not the last, but it was pretty damn close.
“What are you doing here?” I found myself blurting out.
A sly smile slid up his lips. “Is that any way to greet a guest? Surely, your Southern mama taught you better than that.”
“My mother was born and raised in the Midwest.”
“Do they not have manners in the Midwest?” he chided.
Rolling my eyes, I moved to allow him entrance even though every bone in my body was telling me not to. Well, actually, several other parts of my body wanted to do something else entirely with him, which was why letting him in was the last thing I should be doing.
Has he always been this good-looking?
Watching him look around made me feel like the whole place was under a microscope. Suddenly, I could see every imperfection. The dust on top of the picture frames, the worn wooden floors that were in serious need of some TLC, and let’s not forget the mess that hadn’t been attend
ed to.
“This place hasn’t changed since we were kids,” he said, his eyes finally resting on a picture of a much younger me in my high school graduation robe that sat on the fireplace mantel. “I checked out the old house up the street. It doesn’t look that different either.”
I shrugged. “They got a new roof last year.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.” Before I could ask, he added, “My parents still own it. One of the many rental properties they have in town.”
I’d had no idea. I’d been married to Reed for ten years, and he’d never mentioned his family owning the house they’d lived in forever ago.
How many other things had he kept from me?
“Are you going to update this place now that it is yours?” Sawyer asked.
“I … I haven’t thought about it,” I answered honestly before adding, “What’s your deal with changing everything?”
He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a little change.”
My arms folded in front of me. “Nothing wrong with a little tradition either.”
His smile grew. “True.”
“Is that what you’re here about?” I asked. “A little change perhaps?”
“Nothing wrong with a little persistence either.” He saw me beginning to roll my eyes. “Look,” he began, “just hear me out, okay? That’s all I ask, and in the end, if you still feel the same and don’t want to give me the spot, I won’t bug you again. Promise.”
“Fine,” I agreed, taking a seat on the couch.
He quickly followed, sitting down in the chair opposite from me. He was buzzing with energy. I could almost see it radiating around him like a glowing aura of intensity. I was surprised he could actually sit down with all that humming inside him. When was the last time I’d felt that way?
“So, here’s my offer,” I could feel the anticipation in his voice. “I saw you take down your Help Wanted sign today.”
I nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed about my impromptu decision. “Yeah, I jumped the gun on that, I guess you could say. I realized, after crunching some numbers and running projections for the year, that I couldn’t actually afford any additional help at the moment.”
“Right.” He nodded. “I came to the same conclusion too.”