Page 64 of A Shore Fling
“I’m glad I was able to help.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Reed tells me.
Travis grunts.
“Sounds good,” I say.
Travis wraps his hand around mine, leading me toward the door.
“See you later, bro,” Reed calls out, chuckling.
“Not if I can help it,” Travis mumbles, pushing open the door.
We pause just outside. The air touched by the evening breeze feels slightly cooler now. Across from us, a row of shops I hadn’t noticed before glows with warm, inviting light. One in particular, with an emerald-green door catches my eye. “I haven’t seen those shops yet,” I say, tipping my head toward them.
“Would you like to check them out?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, let’s. That one looks like it could be full of treasures or haunted dolls. Either way, I’m intrigued.”
He smirks. “If we end up cursed, I’m blaming you.”
We cross the street and step through the green door into a place that smells like old books and cinnamon. The floorboards creak beneath our feet, and the walls are lined with shelves packed with an eclectic mix of items. Vintage postcards are displayed on a turning shelf. Small antique frames line one shelf while tarnished brass compasses and jars of sea glass line another. There are aged hardcover books and framed photos of people long forgotten.
“This place is amazing,” I whisper, taking a closer look at the pictures. I pick one up and do a double-take. “The guy in this photo looks just like Reed.”
“Let me see.” I hand the frame to Travis. He squints at the image. “Dammit, I need my glasses.”
“You wear glasses?”
“Just for reading.”
“Hold on a sec,” I say, stepping across the aisle. “Bingo.” I pluck a magnifying glass from the shelf and hand it to Travis.
“Thanks.” He holds it over the framed image. “Holy shit. This is a picture of my grandparents.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. The cottage in the background is the one my parents still live in.”
“That’s crazy. I wonder how it ended up here.”
“I have no idea, but I have to purchase it.”
We browse along each aisle. I spend too much time looking at mismatched tea cups and saucers and jars filled with old buttons.
“This place looks like my grandmother’s attic exploded in here,” Travis says.
“Isn’t it the best?” I gently run my fingertips along the worn spine of a leather-bound book.
He picks up a wooden puppet with a cracked smile and tangled strings. “Think this one’s cursed?”
I grimace. “Oh, without a doubt, that thing comes to life at night.”
He grins and sets it back down carefully, like it might bite him. I wander deeper into the store and then pause at a basket of enamel pins shaped like different sea creatures. I hold up a lobster one. “Do you think the Rock Lobster needs a new addition?”
He laughs. “Definitely.”
I move toward a narrow table stacked with hand-painted wooden signs. One readslife’s a beach, and so are you. I hold it up. “I might need to get this for my sister.”
