She’d expected drawbacks for the muscles she’d bribed for the day, and not just visiting the history center in return. When she’d shopped with Chet, he’d played with antique toys and donned every hat or pair of spectacles in the room, especially when the camera rolled. In modern stores, he disappeared only to be discovered reclining in vibrating chairs or crossing his legs in a prone position on a new mattress. Shelby could never decide whether she found her husband’s antics amusing or annoying. Either way, they’d competed for her concentration.
Now, the joy that shot through her at Scott’s partnership brought her up short. His approval of her design plans felt so much more genuine than the staged shopping of the past.
To hide her flustered response, Shelby turned away, removing glass perfume bottles from the top of the dresser. If Scott knew about the little visit she and Angelina had paid to Charles Barnes, his admiration would dissipate as fast as an August raindrop on the hot pavement.
Somehow, Scott picked up on her inner struggle. He alleviated any tension with a joking tone. “I’m totally in favor of leaving. It’s been, what, two hours? After five minutes in here, I wanted to retreat to the corner, close my eyes, and hum ‘Kumbaya.’ But … how?”
“How?”
“Yeah, remember when we came in, the guy at the register told us he was working alone today, so if we wanted to take any furniture, we’d have to help move it. I can go get him, but it’s so crowded in here, I honestly don’t know how we’re going to get it out.”
“No, don’t go get him. I can help.” She wanted to keep up her impressive streak. Besides, she felt pretty sure she was abler than the senior citizen who’d greeted them downstairs. Shelby straightened and looked around. “I guess down the stairs?”
“The stairs? Do you know how tight that’s gonna be?”
“Well, I doubt they’ll let us use the hundred-year-old lift. This is why I brought you along, remember?”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
In case he might really be offended, Shelby winked. “To be fair, I probably wouldn’t have seen that fan sitting up as high as it was if you hadn’t spotted it.”
Scott grinned. “Thank you for acknowledging that I’m good for more than brute force.”
“I admit, you’ve proved yourself today.” Shelby edged up on the dresser and slid her fingers under the edge. “But you’re going first.”
With shuffling mini-steps, they traversed the crowded aisle to the stairwell. Scott managed the opening with only bumping his head into a brass pineapple sconce and knocking one oval-framed portrait of a severe-looking Victorian widow free from its hanger. Shelby rescued the artwork from hitting the floor by quickly maneuvering her end of the dresser closer to the wall.
Scott sighed in relief. “Good save.”
The check-out process involved the write-up of tickets to five different vendors, but finally Shelby paid for their purchases, and they loaded them into the back of Scott’s truck. He secured a tarp over the top. “Maybe we should run this stuff on out to your storage building. I hate to leave it unattended.”
“No, Culpepper’s is right there. We’ve still got some room in the back, and Ruby would clobber us if we didn’t go in there.”
“Right.” Scott slammed the tailgate and declared in the tone of a man about to charge a military bulwark, “Let’s do this.”
“I thought you’d be happy about going into Culpepper’s. It’s right up your alley.”
“That’s certainly true. Shelby …”
“You really don’t like shopping, do you?” Ticking the dresser and the island chairs off her list had put her in a good mood, one which she determined she wouldn’t let Scott’s strange reserve dampen as she set off down the street.
“Chet and I always took pride in supporting local businesses. I hate that so many storefronts along Broad remain empty when the main streets of smaller towns have boomed in the last ten years or so. Oh, look, someone’s checking out the building next to Culpepper’s right now!”
As they passed a vacant store, Shelby smiled as a tall leasing agent in a blue suit and tie let a client onto the sidewalk. Too late, she realized the client was Caitlyn Curtis.
“Well, hey, Caitlyn.” Scott sounded as surprised as Shelby.
Professional in a fitted golden sweater and brown slacks, the woman adjusted her leather satchel so she could hug Scott. The top of her head slid under his chin like a puzzle piece. “Hi, there. Bet you didn’t expect to see me again so soon.”
So soon? Caitlyn’s hand lingering on Scott’s back drew Shelby’s gaze. “Not really. What are you doing?” Scott smiled but stepped back.
“I’m looking at several locations as possibilities to expand as I told you at brunch. And so far, I like this one best.”
“Wow. It’s big. And close.”
“Two positives, in my reckoning … if I can get the price down some.” Shelby didn’t care for the woman’s smug smile as she surveyed Scott. She acted as if Shelby didn’t exist. And—brunch? “With two complementary businesses, we could knock out a wall to increase traffic flow. Think on it.” Caitlyn lifted a shoulder as if she anticipated some opposition but felt confident the outcome would prove in her favor.
“Uh, you remember Shelby.” Scott shifted his weight and—not looking at either of them—lifted his hand in Shelby’s direction.
“Yes, as I recall, your reason for our brunch was to discuss her little sister.” Caitlyn’s teasing wink implied she suspected Scott had possessed another true motive. While the agent locked up, Caitlyn fished in her bag and handed a business card to Shelby.
“Thank you.” Shelby stared at it without focusing.
“Scott says Angelina is very talented and could use a local mentor. If Scott says it, I believe it. Tell her to come by and bring some samples of her work. I don’t have much space in the front of my current frame shop, but I do small shows there from time to time. I have a growing following. And who knows, maybe next year I’ll have a proper gallery right here next to Culpepper’s.”
Casting Scott a questioning glance, Shelby thanked Caitlyn again. She reminded herself that putting up with Caitlyn would be worth having her sister thrive locally.
“What was all that about moving in next door to Culpepper’s?” Shelby asked when Caitlyn and blue suit moved down the sidewalk.
Scott’s brow furrowed as he opened the door of the reclaimed wood business, causing the cow bell attached at the top to jangle. “She didn’t even mention she was thinking of it when I took her out to coffee … to ask her about Angelina.” The second part of his statement sounded hurried, like the glance he sent her.
“Of course.” Shelby made her tone light. Why should she be disturbed even if he’d met Caitlyn for personal reasons?
A long, wooden table with an intricately carved pedestal design arrested her attention. Someone—Linda Culpepper, she assumed—had set it beautifully with linen and dinnerware that looked like it came straight from Julian’s. In the center, white pumpkins, autumn berries, and vines clustered on and around a white cake stand flanked by antique silver candelabra. The display’s rustic elegance took her breath away.
“Oh, this is it. The Wentworths’ dining room table.” Shelby ran a hand along the smoothly sanded and finished barn wood.
As she evaluated tasteful chairs, benches, and end tables grouped under wooden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, Scott’s grin displayed more enthusiasm than she’d seen all day. “You like it?”
“Yes, it’s amazing. And I might even be able to find some Stickley-style seating for Lester’s den, rather than ordering it. I should’ve come in here long ago.” Shelby paused, looking up as she recalled the discussion at hand. “But why would Caitlyn ask you about removing a wall between the shop next door and this one?”
“There you are!” A voice called from behind a display of vintage window frames redesigned as wall art. A tall woman in a woven tunic of fall colors floated toward them, hands extended—Lin
da Culpepper. Shelby blinked, wondering how her arrival had been anticipated. But Linda approached Scott, and to Shelby’s increasing astonishment, placed a kiss on his cheek. “I see you survived the antique store, son.”
“Son?” Shelby echoed.
Scott turned to her. “Shelby, if you haven’t yet put two and two together, this is my mother, and my parents own Culpepper’s.”
Linda turned to her with a smile that melded patience and pride. “And Scott made that beautiful table I heard you admiring, as well as every other piece of furniture in the store.”
Chapter Seventeen
“But—but what … why …” Shelby took a deep breath, composed her thoughts, and stared at the man whose layers just kept peeling back like an onion. Right now, a stinky onion. “When Ruby mentioned Culpepper’s, why didn’t you tell me that your parents own the shop?”
Scott shrugged, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I guess I’m telling you now.”
Only Linda’s presence caused Shelby to bite back a sarcastic response.
Linda scolded. “Scott, you should have told her.” Then she turned to Shelby. “It’s no excuse, but Scott’s always been rather private about our family business. Only a handful of repeat clients know he’s the one who crafts this furniture.”
Shelby pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t argue with Scott’s lovely mother the first time she’d seen her in forever, but she didn’t buy that explanation. Perhaps insecurity explained the reserve of the past, but this was different. They were working together, and it would have been helpful for her to know about the extent of his skills. No, this went beyond mere modesty to something she couldn’t explain but didn’t like. For now, she merely said to Scott, “I thought your dad owned a warehouse with old wood.”
“He does.” Scott’s eyes pleaded for her to acknowledge that he hadn’t been untruthful. “You’re standing in it. The shop—the storefront—is an offshoot of the warehouse. We store all the bulk materials he reclaims in the back. Only smaller decorative pieces and furniture I craft from the salvage make their way up here.”
Linda tilted her perfectly coiffed, sandy bob. “Come, I’ll show you.” As Shelby allowed the older woman to lead her to a barn door slider behind the register, Linda added with genuine warmth, “As I think I told you at a chamber event, I was a big fan of your show. I was beside myself when Scott came home and told us he’d be working with you.”
Shelby smiled, but Scott responded before she could. “Speaking of which, this is kind of what I’m thinking of doing for the master closet door, Shelby.” He reached up to indicate the roller hardware attaching the slider to the wall.
“That’s fine.” Shelby kept her eyes on Linda.
He didn’t take the hint that she didn’t want to talk design with him right now. “I’ve got a pallet of gray wood back here I want to show you. See what you think about the color.”
“Okay. Wow, this is impressive.” Shelby beheld a long showroom completely open to the brick walls except for support timbers, filled with sorted and tagged groupings of doors, mantels, spindles, columns, cornices, barn siding, baseboards, molding, and various types of wood flooring. The aisles remained wide enough for a forklift to pass through, while rolling metal doors opened onto a rear loading dock.
“This part of the business is known as Aiken-Augusta Old Woods,” Linda said. “We have another warehouse in the rear where we unload new shipments for sorting, cleaning, tagging, and overflow. That’s where my husband Mike and my stepson Austin spend most of their time when they’re not overseeing a deconstruction crew.”
Shelby finally looked at Scott. “But not you?”
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Thankfully, Dad recognized early I preferred to build rather than take apart, and he never gave me grief over becoming a contractor. I just make the furniture. They do the hard part. That’s why I don’t take any credit for it.”
“Yeah, but sharing about what your family does isn’t taking credit.”
Scott stared at the floor as he shuffled an almost invisible bit of sawdust from the walkway with the toe of his boot. “You’re right.”
“Scott’s workshop is at our place.” Linda consulted her dainty gold wristwatch. “In fact, we’re closing in half an hour, and I have a pork roast in the oven. If you don’t mind simple food, why don’t you join us for dinner, Shelby? I know Mike would love to tell you more about the business.”
Scott tensed, but Shelby accepted Linda’s invitation before he could protest. She’d had enough of his silent secretiveness. She offered him a bright smile. “So if we have half an hour, I’m going to shop.”
Linda clasped her hands together. “Ooh, let me help you. Scott’s told me about Ruby’s style, so I have a few ideas.”
As Linda showed Shelby multi-purpose crates and trenchers, slat-backed chairs and benches, and the gray-flecked muntins of an old window now hung with wire-mounted glass cups that could be used for candles or herbs, her enthusiasm proved infectious. Scott disappeared into the back room until they called him to secure the smaller items in his truck. He told Shelby he’d have to get the furniture another time.
“That’s fine. I don’t want to dismantle your mom’s beautiful dining display, anyway. As long as she promises not to sell the table out from under us.” Shelby sent Linda a teasing smirk. She already liked the woman’s straightforward but gracious manner.
“Of course not.” Linda looked up from ringing up the sale at the register. “I’m tickled pink it will find a home with the Wentworths. I’ve just got to find a way to bribe you so that you let me walk through before the big reveal.”
“No bribery needed. I’d welcome your help as I’m setting up.” “You would?” Scott and Linda asked at the same time.
Shelby laughed at their astonished faces. “Am I really that known for being set in my decorating ways?”
“You always shooed everyone out on the show,” Linda said.
“That’s because the workmen got underfoot, and Chet distracted me. No one got what I was doing.” Embarrassed by the generous compliment she’d unwittingly paid the two people before her, Shelby pretended to examine a wooden bowl as she attempted to explain.
“Besides, as Scott has pointed out, this is a different style I’m undertaking. You’re already familiar with it, and I do want the Wentworths to be pleased. Not pleased. Delighted. I don’t count it a successful reveal unless there are tears, or at least hysterical laughter.”
“Of course.” The timbre in Linda’s voice came across amused … and touched. “Well, thank you, Shelby. I’ll be there for consultation—and an extra pair of hands. I’ll do my best not to get underfoot.”
Shelby gave an incredulous glance around the store. “Oh, something tells me you won’t be underfoot.”
Scott asked his mom, “Should we go to Shelby’s storage building to give you time to get dinner set out?”
“No, take her on home. Give her a tour. We’ll be right behind you.” The nod Linda gave her son seemed to hold some sort of reassurance.
Scott held the shop door for Shelby and even placed a brief hand on her back, causing her to glance at him in surprise. With a smile through the glass, Linda turned the lock and flipped the “open” sign behind them. As they stepped out to a reddening horizon and a chill hovering close to the cement, Scott commented. “Days are getting shorter. Soon we’ll turn the clock back.”
After that, on the brief ride down Walton Way, he remained silent. Shelby didn’t speak either. As she pondered which questions to ask first, a new and uncomfortable awareness strained between them.
Scott turned onto Milledge Road and passed two Greek Revival mansions and a huge, stucco Spanish Colonial before turning into the evergreen-lined driveway of an antebellum brick Italianate with bracketed eaves, arching iron verandah, and square, two-story bays on both sides.
“No way.” Shelby craned her neck to take in every detail as Scott eased the truck past the house and into a courtyard between it
and a three-bay garage attached by breezeway. Another story of matching brick added living space above the addition, which somehow looked as old as the mansion.
A lean, glossy German shepherd—Luther, Shelby remembered—darted out to greet them. But after putting the truck in park, Scott made no attempt to open the door. “I have another confession to make.”
“Let me guess, you actually own this place, and your parents live above the garage.”
He bared his teeth in an embarrassed grimace. “Actually, it’s the opposite. My parents do own the house, and I live above the garage. My workshop is below.”
“Oh. You didn’t want to tell me you still lived at home … kind of.”
Scott let out a breath. “Right.”
“But you don’t exactly live with them.”
“No, my place is fully furnished, totally private.” He spoke fast, waved his hand. “And I not only pay rent, I help with the upkeep of the property. It’s not like I’m a deadbeat moocher.”
Shelby met Scott’s eyes. “I would never think you’re a deadbeat moocher. And I can see why under certain circumstances, like having a family business, staying close to your parents makes sense. Maybe if I had been in less of a hurry to leave home …” She let her voice trail off. Her dad wouldn’t have left? She wouldn’t have fallen for Chet so hard and fast?
“Thanks. Not everybody understands that.”
“Well, I’ve seen for myself how independent and hard-working you are.” As the reason behind Scott’s reluctance to talk about his private life came clear, relief released some of the tension in Shelby’s shoulders. But another question remained. “Why didn’t you tell me your parents owned Culpepper’s?”
“I started to that day your friend showed up revving the engine of her shiny sports car.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s no excuse. You had an opening as big as a barn door when Ruby brought up shopping there. In fact, I probably still wouldn’t know if she hadn’t set you up. So spill. And don’t give me a sad story about how you used to be embarrassed—because obviously your dad’s no longer ‘the junk man.’”
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