Page 41 of The Best Book Boyfriend
We split up as we head down opposite sides of the wide rows of the fair. Luke calls me over now and then to show me something he’s spotted that perfectly fits my expectations. He’s got a great eye for this stuff, and before long my little wagon is full with two vintage brass lamps, a side table with two drawers that will be great for the living area, and a set of six framed intricate embroideries of British flowers that I know will be beautiful on the wall in Claude’s entranceway.
We’re about halfway round when the most typical thing happens. I’m so cross, I absolutely jinxed myself today. Luke has only gone and found me the most perfect dining table. It’s a beautiful, solid eight-footer made of rustic oak with chunky fluted legs. Pure farmhouse chic, I honestly couldn’t have designed a more perfect table for the space. I smooth my hand across the surface while the seller is busy chatting with other customers.
“Ugh, Luke, this is actually perfect. But there’s no way it will fit in the van.” I snap a few photos so I can remember its beauty and inevitably compare it to every nice, but not as nice, table I see from now on.
“Don’t worry, I spoke to the guy. Turns out he’s local to us and he said he’ll deliver it for twenty quid.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep, it’s all yours if you’re happy with the price.” He smiles like he’s very pleased with himself, and I throw myself around him, pinning his arms to his side. He manages to wriggle one free and wrap it around my shoulders, and I enjoy being pressed against him for a few warm seconds before forcing myself to step away.
“Thank you Luke. You can come antiquing again for sure.”
After I pay the seller and make arrangements for the delivery of Claude’s beautiful new table, Luke and I take a walk through the rest of the stalls together. My phone dings in my pocket but I ignore it, content to just while away this time with him, the buzz of everything I’ve found so far not even close to wearing off.
The fair spans two fields, and when we’re done with the first, we take a quick trip back to the van to unload what I’ve already bought. Then it’s bacon roll time, and I’m glad because my stomach is rumbling, although I change my mind at the last minute and opt for sausage instead.
We stop to browse a stall selling books, and I pick up a few old regency romances. Luke holds them for me while I keep browsing and pays before I can stop him, carrying the stack underneath his arm.
“You know those are for me, right?” I ask, my brows knitted together.
“I know, but you always share your best books with me, so they’re basically mine, too.” The sun is shining, the skylarks are still singing, and I take a moment to appreciate just how good I’m feeling right now. Luke catches me smiling, and then he’s smiling too.
“There’s something really nice about being surrounded by all of this old stuff, isn’t there?” he says, his spirits clearly echoing mine.
“I know what you mean. I love it when I get to work on a project with a more vintage focus rather than a modern one, even if it’s not the way I decorate my own home.”
“It makes me think about where all these pieces have been,” he points at another dining table. “Who’s eaten at that table? Did they make happy memories around it? Which houses has it lived in?”
He catches himself in his thoughts and turns sideways to me while he walks. “Is that really wanky to talk about furniture beingon a journey?”He does his best plummy accent, and it makes me want to kiss him, but I just smile like a dopey puppy instead.
“No, I know exactly what you mean.”
“Like this... thing,” he pauses at a stall and picks up a fire poker that’s seen better days.
“A poker?” I try not to laugh at him, brandishing it like a sword.
“Yes! This poker. Who made this? How many hands have held it, how many people has it kept warm, Kara? Aren’t you dying to know?”
“You want that, mate?” the seller snaps him out of his sentimental moment. “You can have it for twelve.”
“Oh, I’m just looking,” he puts it back sheepishly. “Thanks though.”
My phone dings again, and then again in quick succession. This time I pull it out of my pocket and find a stream of messages from Hattie that I’ve been ignoring.
Hattie:I’ve written a bio for you
Hattie:I’m using this pic
Hattie:And this one. You look stunning
Hattie:Are you open to dating women? I’ve set it up for men only but thought I should check?
Hattie:OK here is the link to your profile. You’ll need to download the app and log in with my email then change it to yours. Your password is ‘FindKaraAMan’
Oh shit, this is not good. But it’s her three most recent messages horrify me the most.
Hattie:OMG you’ve got a match already!!!!!!!
