Page 10 of Finding Love at the Magical Curiosity Shop
‘What, in my shop or in general?’
He laughs, a completely fake, indulgent little chuckle, and I feel goosebumps prickle my shoulders. He doesn’t specificallysayanything in general, but I have no doubt that’s what he means. He’d lowered his voice so Ava doesn’t overhear, and I get the sense thatthisis a rare glimpse underneath his sarcasm and bluntness, and I feel my breath catch as a desire to help, to dosomething, overwhelms me.
For someone so outspoken, he seems incredibly shy and unsure of himself, and there’s something magnetic about him. Ishoulddespise him, and yet, I washopingto see him again, and now, I’m desperate to know what that means. He’s obviously gone through something with the divorce he mentioned yesterday, and the absent ex-wife that Ava blames him for, and now he doesn’t seem like he’s having the easiest time with single parenting. There’s a hard set to his mouth and the way he holds his shoulders at a pointed angle that gives me a sense of someone barely holding it together.
Like he knows I’m trying to stop myself asking questions, he starts wandering around and examining some of the things on display. ‘Why is there a…’ He picks up a diving helmet that’s been repurposed so the faceplate now holds a clock and then puts it back down again and shakes his head. ‘I’m actually not going to ask. I’d rather not know.’
‘Just becauseyoudon’t like something doesn’t mean someone else won’t think it’s fabulous.’
He ignores me as he continues to look around. ‘It’s like a fever dream in here, like that time they brought out mint chocolate flavour Pringles or Jeremy Clarkson was voted Britain’s sexiest man.’
It makes me laugh again, even though being compared to mint chocolate flavour crisps or Jeremy Clarkson is definitelynota compliment.
‘Some of this furniture could actually be quite decent. This is oak, and it looks reasonably old.’ He crouches down at a wooden dresser and pulls the decorative cloth covering it aside and rubs at the wood with his thumb. ‘Shame about these marks.’
‘They give it character.’
He runs that cynical raised eyebrow over it. ‘Someone’s cat used it as a scratching post, more like.’
‘No! There’s something deliberate in those marks. Maybe it was in a young boy’s bedroom. Maybe he had a crush on the girl next door and he would watch her from the window and he put a mark on it every time she waved to him…’
‘So stalkerishandfictional, good to know. Where do you get these ideas from? This is a once-expensive cabinet that someone’s let their cat go to town on. Nothing more. Seriously detrimental to the value for you though. Antique?’
I shrug. ‘No idea.’
‘Well, youshouldhave an idea! Youshouldknow the exact value of the things you’re selling. You’re running a business here!’
‘I’m glad you know so much about my business, Mr History Teacher. I didn’t realise my homework assignment on antiques was due in today, Mr…?’
He rolls his eyes at my sarcasm. ‘Montague. But I go by Ren to anyone over the age of sixteen.’
‘Montague?That’syour surname?’
He nods, and I put a hand on my chest and recite Shakespeare. ‘Oh Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?’
‘Oh, that’s clever, I’veneverheard that one before.’ His laugh is both sarcastic and good-natured.
‘That’s pretty cool to share a surname with the greatest romantic hero of our time.’
‘Greatest romantic idiot of our time! Note to men everywhere: check your beloved isactuallydead before drinking poison to quell your heartbreak. It rarely ends well.’
Ren Montague. I repeat the name in my head, feeling like a kid of Ava’s age, scribbling the name of my school crush all over my maths exercise book rather than doing any work. Maybe a clue as to why I’m so bad at business now.
It’s impossible not to watch him as he continues looking around. Thick black hair, parted at one side and pulled over in a way that would be soft and touchable if it wasn’t held stiff with hair product. Smart black trousers and a plain T-shirt with a jacket over it that looks too warm for this time of year. Someone sensible who likes to be prepared for all eventualities, perhaps? Probably the type who never leaves home without an umbrella, even in the middle of summer.
‘Why is there half a dragon fruit?’
For a moment, I think he’s found some abandoned food a customer has left behind, and then I realise what he’s looking at. ‘Oh! It’s a side table. Isn’t it amazing?’
‘Amazing?’ He echoes like I’m using the word in the wrong context.
‘Oh, come on. You’ve never seen anything like that before in your life.’
It’s an entire table, designed so the base is the scaly, almost pineapple-like pink skin, and the tabletop is the white pulp specked with black seeds. It’s made of resin and hand-painted to perfection. It looks exactly like someone has cut a huge plastic dragon fruit in half and kept it as furniture. ‘One day, someone is going to come in and say, “Ah, this is it! Exactly the thing that I’ve needed all my life without ever knowing I needed it,” and instantly realise they can’t live without it.’
He picks up the price tag and draws in a breath. ‘For fifty quid, I think wemightjust get by without it.’
‘If anything, I’ve underpriced it. It’s made lovingly by hand. Maybe a devoted husband made it for his wife who really loves dragon fruit. What a romantic, one-of-a-kind gift!’
