“So, you’ve finally come back,” Mrs. Gillespie said without preamble.
Holly closed the door behind her and did her best not to roll her eyes as Mrs. Gillespie unwrapped the long knit scarf that was swallowing her neck whole and unbuttoned her olive green overcoat. She left her hat on, but did take her gloves off. Which meant this was not going to be a brief visit. Lovely.
“How have you been?” Holly asked.
“My bursitis doesn’t appreciate the cold weather, but, otherwise, I can’t complain.” She laid her gloves and handbag on the counter and gave the store a keen once-over before turning back to face Holly. “When will you be re-opening? This close to the holidays, you’ve already forfeited most of your seasonal profits.”
Holly held her gaze, most likely like a deer in headlights. Something about the way Mrs. Gillespie focused on a person made it next to impossible to prevaricate. “I—I’m not sure I will be.” There, she’d said it. Put the words right out there.
Mrs. Gillespie surprised her by nodding. “You never did have a head for this. You’re more the dreamer.”
“Dreamer?” Holly was honestly surprised by the description. Eight years spent surviving in the very cutthroat world of advertising had hardly made a dreamer out of her. She’d always thought her mother was more the dreamer, living in a fantasy world of sleigh bells and Santa Clauses.
“Running off to Europe, head in the clouds, wanting to become a famous painter.” She turned her attention back to the store. “What would you call it?”
“I work in advertising.”
Mrs. Gillespie didn’t seem to give any more credence to that comment than Sean had the night before. Holly continued. “I don’t know what my mother has told you, but painting is not—”
“What keeps food on your table, I’m aware.” She turned back to Holly. “Your mother found a way to make her passion pay for itself. She has a good eye for both whimsy and collectibles, and the business education to know how to turn a profit at it.” She cocked her head slightly and clasped her hands in front of her coat. “What will you do with all she’s built here?”
Holly was at a bit of a loss as to how to respond to that. On the one hand, Mrs. Gillespie didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised that Holly might not attempt to continue on in her mother’s footsteps, and although not entirely easy to read, she wasn’t thinking there was disapproval there, either. “I don’t know yet.” Which was absolute honest truth. She’d spent the day and a half since arriving looking over the books, checking the inventory, the title to the building, which her mother had owned for some time now, and the taxes on the building, all of which her father had neatly categorized, summarized, and filed in tidy folders and binders in her mother’s office. And she still wasn’t certain what her best course of action would be. Or how long it would take before she could flee back to London.
And fleeing was exactly how it felt. Just as it had over a decade earlier.
“A shame you couldn’t have found a way to return sooner. Might have lost what window you had to sell the thing off, lock, stock—”
“And jingle bells,” Holly murmured, knowing it was true. She waited for Mrs. Gillespie to continue with the lecture, but her interest had once again returned to the store.
Holly was drawn out of her thoughts as she watched the older woman continue to sweep her gaze, quite steadily and deliberately through each area of the store, without taking so much as a step or even unclasping her hands. Holly frowned a little, wondering what was going through the woman’s mind, certain she’d hear about it momentarily unless she did something to move this visit forward to its conclusion. “Can I get you anything? I have tea brewing in the back, or—”
“This isn’t a social call,” she informed her, not breaking her steady regard of the store, which was now on the far corner.
Holly hid the dry smile that threatened, certain Mrs. Gillespie would not be pleased by Holly’s amusement with her eccentricities. Then another thought occurred to her. While none of the women who’d worked for her mother had done so full-time, or drew any significant income from it, it was an income. And perhaps, Mrs. Gillespie was here trying to determine if she was going to be getting her old job back, but too proud to ask. Holly supposed she’d already answered that question, so now all that was left was to allow her to save face and leave of her own accord, in whatever manner she wished to contrive. Holly would follow her lead.
So, no one was more surprised than Holly when Mrs. Gillespie abruptly turned to her and said, “Have you come up with a figure?”
“A figure?”
“An asking price,” she clarified, her expression still flat and unreadable.
“An asking price for—oh, you mean—” Holly stuttered to a halt, really caught off guard this time, then frowned and said, “Were—are you…interested? In buying the place?”
“No.”
Holly frowned. “Okay. I’m not following, then. Do you know of someone who is?”
“I’d like to set up a meeting with you,” she responded. “To discuss possibilities. Unless, of course, you already have outside interest, or alternate plans.”
“No, I—I hadn’t—” She felt like an idiot, and she really needed not to be. Mrs. Gillespie was a shrewd woman, and Holly was fairly certain the woman would take full advantage of Holly’s lack of business sense if it stood to gain her anything. It was simply the smart thing to do. And Mrs. Gillespie was nothing if not smart. “I’d be happy to talk with you, once I have had time to better acclimate myself.”
“How long a process will that be?”
Holly’s mind was racing now, and she had to work hard to corral it until she was alone with time to really think all this through. But all she could think at that moment, standing there, was that, of all people on the planet, who’d have thought that Mrs. Gillespie could turn out to be her savior. “Can I ask…when my mother announced she was retiring, why didn’t you approach her directly if you were interested in making some sort of offer or deal on the place? The timing would have been much better, seasonally, and—”
“She was quite clear about wanting to bequeath it to you. It was your inheritance. It wasn’t up for discussion.”
“I don’t know that she really thought any of you would want the place. It’s a lot of work and—”
“My dear, I’ve helped to run the place since long before you were in diapers in a playpen back in your mother’s office. I’m quite well aware, certainly more so than you are, as to what it takes to run the place.”
Holly didn’t want to state the obvious, but Mrs. Gillespie was even older than her mother, in her late seventies, at the very least. It was one thing to work fifteen or twenty hours a week for someone else. Did she really want to tackle running a store at her age? “I’m certain you do, I was just…” She had no idea how to phrase it without insulting the woman. And given she could very likely be the answer to all of Holly’s fervent prayers, that was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment.
“There is another reason I’ve waited.”
“Oh?”
“This place, the contents, were your mother’s passion. Clearly she was of no mind to see it sold off, bit by bit. I don’t know that she held out any true hope you’d take it over, but she just wanted to leave it as it was, so that her memories of the place remain intact. I respect that.”
“Okay.” Holly wished her mother had made Holly feel that sure about things, but hearing it from Mrs. Gillespie actually gave her a great deal more confidence in her growing certainty of where she was going to go with her inheritance. Mrs. Gillespie was right about one thing. Holly might not have found a way to pursue her own dreams, but she did know that this wasn’t her path.
“I waited because, while I admire your mother, both her business acumen, and her eye for a good piece, I don’t hold with her fondness for the Christmas holiday.”
Holly knew the surprise was clear on her face. “But, you’ve worked here for—”
&nbs
p; “I love antiques. I love the history, the workmanship…” She drifted off, as if suddenly overtaken by her own passion. It was only a momentary blip, but an important one.
Holly’s first real glimpse, she thought, of the woman behind the ever-present clasped hands and oh-so-serious expression.
“Back in the day, had your mother taken even so much as a few weeks longer to make an offer on Mrs. Haversham’s place, I would have been the one making the offer.”
Holly’s mouth dropped open. “You wanted to run a shop? Did my mother—”
“She knew. We discussed a partnership, but her vision for the store’s content was wildly divergent from my own.”
“So, you settled for, what, working here? Why?”
“The town was far too small then for more than one decent antiques store. It’s because of me that we branched out as much as we did, with some of the larger pieces. I talked your mother into using those to display her collectibles and we both found a bit of a balance, I suppose. We were both newlyweds back then, but I began my family straight off, and working at all back then was simply…well, let’s just say our arrangement was a good fit. Your mother and father saw eye-to-eye with their dreams. My husband, God rest his soul, did not. So, I accepted the way of it, and we made it work.”
Holly was absolutely dumbstruck. First off, she couldn’t even picture Mrs. Gillespie as a young newlywed, much less a young mother. Holly knew she had two grown children, both of whom had children close to Holly’s age, and had lived out of state for most of Holly’s life. “Later, when times changed, and the town became more of a tourist destination, with the history and the battlefields…did you ever consider opening a shop then?” There weren’t any other antiques stores directly on Main Street, but within ten to twenty miles, there were a few collectible and antiques establishments, as was fairly common now, in the more rural, picturesque Virginia countryside.
“The die was cast, as they say, and I accepted the way of it. I had other pursuits, and Mr. Gillespie and I did our fair share of traveling.”
“I’m sorry,” Holly said, “about his passing.” She had heard through her mother that Mr. Gillespie had passed away from a heart condition several years back.
Mrs. Gillespie straightened her shoulders, her posture becoming even more rigid, if that were possible. “Thank you,” she said, clearly uncomfortable with any display of actual emotion. “When can we schedule a meeting?”
“What, exactly, are we discussing? You said you weren’t interested in buying—”
“I’m not. What I’d like to discuss with you is a lease arrangement. You do own this building, do you not?” When Holly nodded, she continued. “Clearly, at my age, purchasing the place would make no sense. Both of my children have done quite well for themselves, and while I could afford something of a late-in-life folly, as they call it, they don’t need to be saddled with it after I’m gone.”
Unlike what Holly’s mother had done to her, she might as well have said. She didn’t have to.
“I thought perhaps we could discuss a purchase price of the pieces I’d like to keep, and I can help you arrange to sell the rest, for a brokering fee, of course, which I will use to invest in new stock.” She stood there, hands clasped, hat perfectly perched on her smooth gray bun, gaze focused steadily on Holly. Unflinching.
Holly marshaled all of her advertising client toughness and held the gaze just as unflinchingly. “I’m definitely willing to consider it. If you could give me a day or two, we’ll sit down and talk details.”
This didn’t meet with immediate approval, if the slight downturn of her pursed lips was any indication, but, after a moment, she nodded. “Very well then. I’ll wait for your call.” She gathered her gloves and scarf and buttoned her coat. Once she was bundled, Holly saw her to the door, where she paused and looked back at Holly once again. “There are other buildings with leased space available. I want this space, this building, as I know all of its quirks. And I know you. But don’t keep me waiting. I’m not getting any younger. And I’ve waited long enough to pursue my passion.” With that, she stepped through the door and walked off down the street.
Holly stood there, partly dumbstruck, partly amused…mostly stunned. Could the solution be so simple? She stepped back into the store, her mind already swimming with all the things that could unsimplify it. Did she want to be a landlord? Would living in London make that impossible? How long would it take to sell off the unwanted inventory…and how in the hell would she come up with the appropriate lease agreement?
She was just closing the door when she heard someone shout her name. She looked up to see Sean trotting across the street, a broad smile on his handsome face…and a Gallagher’s take-out box in his hand.
Her heart did that slow, melting slippy-slidey thing and her pulse rate tripled.
“Hey,” he said, all big and room-swallowing as he slipped inside the door. She closed it behind him, blocking out the winter chill…and blocking in something that was definitely providing a lot of heat.
“Hey, yourself,” she said, trying to make the mental switch from business to…well, there was no denying the surprise was a pleasurable one.
“I brought lunch, but that was mostly an excuse.”
“Excuse?” She locked the door, then turned and looked up at him just as he set the box on the closest shelf and took a step closer to her.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day. Night, too, if I’m being honest.”
“Thinking about what?”
“This.” He slid a warm palm along her cheek, sunk his fingers into her hair, and tipped her face up to his. “I know your future plans aren’t certain,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that sent a series of the most tantalizing shivers down her spine. “But I already lived with the regret of not pursuing you once. I don’t want to make that mistake again.” And then he kissed her.
And her knees buckled, and she grabbed hold of him.
And kissed him back.
Oh, wonderful. More things that weren’t going to be simple.
6
This was either the best idea he’d ever had, or one of his worst mistakes in the making. At the moment, with her fingertips sliding up the back of his neck and her sweet body pressing fully against his, it was feeling like his most brilliant decision ever.
He scooped her up, lifting her off her feet and bringing her face up more evenly with his own so he could take the kiss even deeper. He moved them farther into the store, backwalking her until they reached the front counter by the register. He slid her onto the smooth glass surface, then pulled her back toward him, hands on her hips as he moved between her legs, urging her to open to him as he slid his hands up her spine, then lost them again in that silky waterfall of hair. Why on earth had he waited so long to do this?
She was making these tiny little guttural noises in the back of her throat that were doing insane things to his body. Namely making him so rock hard it was almost painful to stand, but then she was tucking her feet around the back of his thighs, pulling him closer. And now he was the one groaning as she snuggled herself perfectly around him. It was sensation overload, on every level.
Their kissing was escalating as rapidly as his pulse rate and he knew it was only a matter of time—seconds at the rate they were going—before clothes were going to get yanked off and things were going to happen that he—oh, he desperately wanted them to happen. Perhaps more, in that moment, than he’d ever wanted anything to happen. Ever. But this—this was not what he’d had in mind when he’d crossed the street. Kiss her, maybe seduce her a little, enough to get her to agree to at least think about giving the two of them a chance to find out what might be. Rationally. Flirtatiously, but rationally.
He hadn’t counted on one taste of her leading to this kind of volcanic eruption of need and want. And an eruption was just what he was risking here if he let this go on an instant longer.
Heart pounding, breathing labored, he forced himself to tear his mouth away fr
om hers. “Holly—” was all he could manage.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly, her fingers curling into his shoulders as she instinctively pulled him closer again.
“I—we—wait,” he said before she could claim his mouth again. Claim him. In fact, he already felt it. How easily she could slip right in, under his defenses, which were remarkably nonexistent at that moment. Was it because he knew her? Because she was so familiar to him, having been around his whole life, that he wasn’t wary, wasn’t overthinking? Or was it because she hadn’t pursued him, and was quite possibly leaving? Thereby making that “how to make a relationship work” problem he typically had a nonissue?
He wasn’t a coward, and he always put his partners’ needs in front of his own. Just as he was always up front regarding who he was and how his life operated. And, with Holly, all of those things were magnified tenfold by her life and what it might entail.
So, why was it, staring into her big, brown eyes, that rather than tell her all the reasons why this might have been the big mistake he’d feared it would be…he just felt this ridiculous sensation of hope skyrocketing through him. Holly equaled hope. It was that simple. And that crazy.
“I want you,” he said.
Her face bloomed with the most delightful shade of pink, but her gaze stayed on his. “I—I think I was getting that.”
“But I didn’t—I mean, this isn’t what—”
The bright twinkle in her eyes instantly shuttered and she tried to shift back out of his arms, the pink in her cheeks now looking to be more from embarrassment than the blush of a woman flattered by his attention.
“No, no, wait.” He pulled her in close, reluctant to let her put any more space between them, both because having her there felt all kinds of right and because he was afraid she’d start building walls if he gave her half a chance. They were down now, as were his…and he was determined to keep them that way.
Lock, Stock & Jingle Bells Page 4
