Callie puttered around the house, spotless now thanks to Amanda, and played with Hadley until she fell asleep on the couch. She’d insisted on praying over lunch and included her usual requests for a cat and a mommy.
While the little girl slept, Callie checked her emails. One of the agents from the office messaged her and asked her to meet at a house in Burlington to do a walk-through. Happy to have something to do, Callie replied she was free the next day. How she’d bill Mr. Martin for it, she didn’t know, but at least she knew how to write an invoice. They still needed her, she knew, and they were going to pay for it.
Callie gritted her teeth with determination, and a little light bulb went off in her head. If she could stage houses as a freelancer, there was no reason she couldn’t stage houses for other realty companies.
Of course. She was an independent contractor now, or she could be. If she staged houses for several real estate offices at once, she could make more than she’d been making to start with. She’d already referred several agents in the area to Mark. She should have offered her own services, too.
“You have to think like an entrepreneur sometimes, not just a designer,” she said out loud. Quickly running a search on real estate companies south of Atlanta, it was hard for her not to let the creative side take over and start looking at how to build a website. She’d just have to work faster and harder. She could do it. In no time, she could save enough for a down payment on a shop.
Mr. Martin letting her go could very well be a blessing in disguise. She didn’t need to go back to Nashville, and more than ever now, she had every reason to stay.
Excited and pleased, she started jotting down notes on paper scraps. Her box of notebooks was still in the back of the car where’d she tossed it after moving her personal things out of the office. She hurried out to get it, stacking tools leftover from the farmhouse in her arms and tottering into the house. She dropped office supplies onto the floor beside the couch and carried the chalk paint and brushes into the kitchen.
Pulling the brushes out, she made sure they were dry and set them on the edge of the sink. She started to put the box of paint in the cabinet underneath, but the little silver spoon she’d found in the hutch clattered around, and she stopped. She didn’t want it ruined if it got damp under the sink. She’d forgotten all about it.
Callie pulled the spoon out and admired it. It looked unique and very old. She’d meant to show it to Mark a couple of times but kept forgetting. Flipping it around in her hand, she tried polishing it with the hem of her T-shirt. It didn’t help much. It was definitely ancient.
She walked back to the couch and set it on her lap while she searched for antique spoons online.
A picture popped up on the screen, and Callie scrolled through several images of single pieces of silver that had gone for top dollar. She raised a brow. A New York auction house had sold a few sets of Irish silver in recent years. She looked down at the spoon again and turned it over. This looked like a quality piece. On a hunch, she clicked an image of Irish silver. Her heart began to thump. She’d never realized it was so rare and valuable.
With nervous hands, she searched for more Irish designs, then almost choked when she saw the same maker’s mark as the one on the spoon in her lap. She looked at the price point and became light-headed. Irish silver, so old and rare that no one had entire collections anymore, was worth a fortune. Collectors searched and bought up individual pieces hoping to make complete sets.
Callie stopped on a picture of a fork with the same design as her little spoon. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Croaking out a laugh of disbelief, she picked up the almost three-centuries-old spoon and held it against the screen. She couldn’t believe it. She was holding twenty thousand dollars in her hand.
Chapter Fourteen
Mark drove around the block in Atlanta’s midtown twice before he accepted the fact that he would have to pay for parking. With a brick of dread in his chest, he heaved himself out of the truck and carried the box of spoons toward the auction house, wishing there was some other way. Once again, his prayers hadn’t been answered, and he would just have to bite the bullet.
A pleasant-sounding bell chimed as he passed into a cool, dimly lit foyer. It was nice. Posh. Not a place he fit in wearing work slacks and a checkered Oxford. The elderly woman at the reception desk offered him a drink when he checked in, but he declined. She smiled and asked him to sit down while she picked up the phone. He walked to the other side of the sitting area, too nervous to sit but needing to get away from her strong perfume.
Examining the fine art on the wall, he jumped when someone said, “Mr. Chatham?”
Rodney Bennet, his contact, strode up to him with his hand out. They shook hands, and Bennet motioned for him to follow. “Let’s go to my office.”
Mark nodded and went along like an obedient schoolboy. It felt dreadful to be standing here with his mother’s precious heirlooms, all just to save his shop’s space on the town square to sell junk. But there was the house, he reminded himself, and the land. He’d just have to pick and choose. This wasn’t about him anymore, it was about Hadley.
The knowledge that he had no choice didn’t make him feel any better or less guilty. He’d let them all down. He’d let his entire family down. He said a prayer that his mother would forgive him for parting with the spoons.
His throat felt like someone was squeezing it, and Mark took a sharp breath as they walked into Bennet’s nice office. The worst part was, if he fell behind again, he’d have nothing left but the land. He hoped Bennet would be generous.
The man took a seat behind his desk. He looked Mark in the eye instead of gawking at the box. “I’m sorry you’re in the situation you’re in.”
Mark nodded.
“This isn’t the way I wanted to buy your spoons from you, but I promise I’ll be fair.”
Mark cleared his throat. “I appreciate that. I knew you would, and that’s why I drove up this far.”
Bennet leaned forward. “Are they still in mint condition?”
“They are.” Mark set the small box on the floor in front of him and opened it up. Callie had lovingly wrapped each piece in lint-free cloth and stacked them in neat rows two deep. He picked up three and set them on the desk.
Bennet unwrapped the first one and held it up to the light. “Beautiful,” he murmured. He slid a desk drawer open with one hand and pulled out a magnifying glass. His eye became enormous as he examined the spoon from one end to the other.
He set the magnifying glass down and smiled at Mark. “If the rest of them are as good as this, I can offer you forty-five hundred for the set.”
He hadn’t been expecting to get so close to market value. Mark took a deep breath. “That’s more than generous,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Well, I think I’m going to hang on to them,” Bennet admitted. “They increase in value every year right now, and they have such a great story.”
“The Harts from Rhode Island.” Mark nodded. Bennet didn’t know the half of it. True love, sacrifice and a hero coming home again.
“Can I see the rest?”
The remaining spoons were unwrapped and examined, and twenty minutes later, Bennet pushed back from his desk. “It looks like we have a deal.” The phone on his desk buzzed, but he politely ignored it. He stood up and stuck out his hand, and with a defeated cloud pressing down on him, Mark forced himself to stand, too. At least the store was saved.
The phone buzzed again, and a rapid patter of footfalls and a frantic series of raps on the office door interrupted them. Mark raised a brow at all of the commotion.
Bennet looked embarrassed. He pivoted around the desk and strode to the door. Someone banged on it again, and it burst open just as he reached for the handle.
Callie burst into the room, her hair a windblown mess and still wearing a pink T-shirt over a pair of jeans ripped at the kn
ee. Hadley came panting in behind her. She looked confused but excited. Callie was beautiful.
Mark stared, and she burst into laughter when she saw him. “Stop,” she said with a wide smile and watery eyes. “Don’t do it.”
Bennet looked confused. He swung his gaze back to Mark.
“Callie?” Mark didn’t know what else to say.
She brushed past Bennet and practically jumped into Mark’s arms. She looked deep into his eyes. “Don’t sell the spoons.”
He blinked.
She turned to Bennet. “I have something better for you.”
The dealer looked irritated now. He walked back to the desk, brows low, and looked to Mark for some kind of explanation.
He had nothing. Mark looked at Callie.
“Mr. Chatham will not be selling his spoons today,” she announced in an authoritative voice.
“Excuse me?” Bennet’s cheeks turned red. He clamped his mouth back together in a grim line.
Callie dropped into the chair Mark had been sitting in and held out her fist. It looked like she had a plastic bag.
“What is this?” Bennet said. The annoyance in his tone sounded barely contained.
“Irish silver.” Callie flashed him one of her whopping grins. “A rare and valuable piece.” Even as Mark saw her set the plastic bag down on the desk, he couldn’t help but admire the deep dimple in her cheek. For whatever reason she was ruining his business deal, she was doing it adorably.
Bennet snatched up the bag, pulled out a small tarnished spoon and stared at it. He glanced up at Mark, then back at the spoon. Picking up his magnifying glass he turned the spoon over, and Mark watched the color empty from his face.
Mark turned to Callie. “Whose is that?”
“It’s not mine,” Hadley reassured him.
Callie waved at Mark to hush him up and kept her dazzling eyes locked on Bennet’s. “It’s ours. We’re partners.”
“Partners,” Hadley parroted.
Bennet looked at Mark for confirmation, and he nodded before Callie looked back at him. He had no idea what she was up to or what she had, but the excitement in the room was palpable.
The art dealer set the magnifying glass down. “Do you have proof of ownership?”
“I can get an affidavit,” Callie said confidently. “The spoon was sold years ago to Mr. Chatham at auction along with a 1941 walnut china hutch, which he sold to me.” She looked back and gave Mark a reassuring nod. “I held on to the receipt,” she added for his benefit.
“You never turned in your receipt?” Mark said out loud, and blessed her absentminded heart for not getting compensation from Martin Realty for the hutch.
She shook her head. “The hutch is mine,” she assured him. She waited for Bennet to set down the spoon. It was all Mark could do not to snatch it away from him so he could see it himself.
“That’s a rare seventeenth-century Irish silver spoon, Mr. Bennet,” Callie said, “and I’m sure you saw the maker’s mark.”
Bennet eyed her. Mark’s spoons wrapped up in their lint-free cloth on the desk had been forgotten.
“I’ll offer you fifteen thousand,” the dealer said in a firm voice, and Mark’s jaw dropped.
Callie raised a brow. “I’ve already notified the auction houses in New York, and I’m sure you’ll be contacting them as soon as you buy this.” She smiled, then in a serious tone added, “Eighteen thousand, firm, and we’ll need an advance today while you have it authenticated.”
Bennet took a deep breath and exhaled. He was focused on Callie now; Mark was a shadow. “I can counter all day, but I see you’re one step ahead of me.”
She nodded. “We need the cash,” she admitted, “and we have no emotional ties to the piece.”
Bennet made a noise in his throat and looked at Mark. “I suppose you’ve changed your mind about these?” He glanced down at the family spoons.
Mark looked at Callie.
“Yes,” she answered for him, “he has.”
He moved close beside the chair and rested his hand on the back of her neck. “Yes,” he repeated, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m sorry, Bennet.”
The older man looked disappointed but said, “I understand, but I can’t complain about the substitute.” He held up the Irish spoon again. “Young lady, do you have any idea what you’ve found?”
Callie looked up at Mark. “I have a pretty good idea.”
His heart leaped. Without thinking, Mark pulled her up by the elbow and drew her into his arms. It didn’t matter that Bennet was there. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand what was going on between them. Mark gazed into her eyes.
“The spoon was in the hutch,” she whispered, “behind the drawer.” She chuckled. “It would have never been found if we hadn’t decided to bring the hutch back to life and give it a second chance.” She gave him a tight squeeze. “Tell the bank that you’ll have the money on Monday.”
A tidal wave of relief washed over Mark, from his head down to his toes, making him go weak in the knees. His heart swelled with joy, gratitude and mad, mad love for this woman. “You did this for me.”
“I did. All for you—and a little girl. And if I’m lucky, you’ll let me buy into the Market and tell Martin Hometown Realty to jump into the lake.”
He would have laughed, but he had to kiss her, so he did. She melted in his arms. This time, no one had the nerve to interrupt them. Not even Hadley.
Epilogue
The for-sale sign in front of the old Pierce farmhouse came down. Callie squealed with excitement as she burst through the front door. Mark followed, laughing right behind her. He tossed the placard down onto the couch while Callie danced around.
“You did it!” She hopped up and down, then dashed into his arms. He gave her a long, tight squeeze until she looked up.
“I couldn’t have done this without you,” he whispered. His husky voice and sincere gaze made her heart melt.
“You did this,” she assured him. “I think it’s brilliant to rent out your house. I mean, your other house. Now the land can be farmed, and it’s not all on you, but it’s still in the family.”
“Right,” he agreed. He loosened his grip around her waist and spun her around in a slow dance. “With the shop renovations done and all of your pieces moving so fast...” he winked “... I’ll have more than enough time to keep this place up.”
“Hadley will love it here. She’s already picked out her room!” Callie grinned. “And I’m happy to do my share. I love being part owner of the Antique Boutique. My mother would have been proud.”
He chuckled. “You just like the new name.”
She shook her head, her heart swelling with happiness. “No, I love the store and the building. I told you McIntyre would sell it to you in exchange for your little lot across the street from the house. A new subdivision means more to him than a little old junk shop on the block, as he called it.”
“I’m glad you were right.” Mark smiled. “I wasn’t so sure.”
“He had no choice,” Callie said loftily. “It was either losing a little building on the square or missing out on making millions with his new neighborhood.”
Mark pulled her down onto the couch. “I can’t believe he gave up something that’s been in his family for generations.”
Callie gave him another squeeze.
“So what do you think of me moving all the way out here by myself with my little girl?” he asked. “Are you going to miss me?”
Callie decided to tease him. She put a finger to her chin and pretended to think. “Well, it is a long drive,” she sighed, “but the lake is nearby.” She beamed at him. “I think I’ll manage.”
He closed his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that,” he whispered, then he blinked and sat up. “They’ll be coming for the staging furniture,” he told her, and she realized he was
right. He motioned toward the kitchen. “We should get the hutch moved out of the way before they get here since it’s still yours.”
“Ours,” she corrected him. She could never think of the hutch as hers now. In a way, it’d brought them together. It had led her back to him and made her dreams come true. “I can’t believe I’m out of debt now and part owner of an antiques shop,” she said, sidetracked from their mission. She giggled and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m keeping that hutch forever.”
“Oh, yeah?” He cocked his head at her. “Maybe we should keep it here then.”
“Oh, okay,” Callie said. She tried to hide the windfall of disappointment she felt. She’d hoped he would help her move it to her house. She’d extended her rental agreement on the cottage another quarter. “I guess it does look perfect where it’s sitting in the kitchen,” she added in a small voice.
Mark took her hand and pulled her up. “Let’s go have a look.”
She followed him to the kitchen, trying not to drag her feet. She didn’t want to squabble over the hutch, but his sudden change of heart had taken the wind out of her sails. They stopped beside the dining table and studied it.
“It is sweet,” she admitted, admiring her work. She swallowed down a lump in her throat. “To think how many generations passed down that spoon until it got lost behind a drawer.”
Mark nodded, sharing in her disbelief. “Are you sure you found them all?”
Callie laughed and elbowed him. He looked serious, though. “Maybe you should look again.”
Callie snorted. She walked over and pulled a drawer open. “Empty,” she said. She looked back at him and gave a teasing shrug. “I guess your mother’s spoons will just have to go in here.”
“Check the other one,” he insisted.
She stared at him for a second, unsure if he was serious or not. She turned back to the hutch and pulled the second drawer open. It was empty, except for a navy blue velvet jewelry box.
Callie’s heart sped up. Behind her, Mark became still. The entire house seemed to hold its breath. She forced herself to reach for the gift box and pull it out, not sure how to act and not certain what to expect. Her heart thudded so hard it echoed in her ears.
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