Page 12 of Finding Love at the Magical Curiosity Shop
‘What have we here?’ Ren lifts the huge book from its hiding place.
A tingle goes down my spine. This is the stuff I live for. A hidden compartment! An ancient book! That smell! Iknewthere was something special about this chest, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I should’ve known it was hiding a secret of epic proportions. ‘Be careful with that! Place it gently on the counter and back away slowly.’
Everyone who deals with old thingsdreamsof finding a secret like this. This is the holy grail of things I’ve always wanted to happen in my shop, and now it actually has, and my heart is thrumming with the possibility of what we’re going to find inside, the endless secrets it could hold, and?—
‘Why would I do that? I’ve just paid for it. It’s mine.’
‘It is not!’ I gasp in indignation. ‘It wasn’t included in the price. I didn’t know it was there.’
‘That isn’t my fault. It’s up to you to correctly appraise your items. I’ve purchased the chest and all contents. It belongs to us.’
I wish I had some tea left to throw all over him because he deserves a hot drink straight to the face at the moment, and I’m positivelylividat his nerve. So livid that, without thinking, I reach over and grab the book from his hands. ‘I’ll refund your money right now.’
Now it’s his turn to gasp in indignation. ‘I don’t want a refund. I want what I’ve paid for.’
I can’t believe I didn’t even know it was there. I remember the feeling of something clonking when I marked it up, but when I didn’t see anything, I put it down to a quirk of the old wood. I never noticed that the base of the chest was higher than it should have been. And now this… I curse myself again. Was I too busy making up fantasy stories about the chest to accurately assess it? I imagined a little girl, painting shells she’d gathered from the beach to decorate it with, excited to keep her most special things inside. How could I have got so caught up in fantasy that I missed something so important?
‘Well, you’re getting one.’ I turn to the till and the momentary lapse of concentration gives him an opportunity to snatch it back. ‘Be careful! You’ll rip it, it’sold!’
He holds it with one hand and runs the other one over the aged leather cover. ‘We don’t even know what it is yet. It could be some old bat’s recipe book for all we know. Why are we fighting over it?’
‘It’s special! We bothknowthat. And it’s not bloody yours!’ I hold my hand out for it, like I’m honestly expecting this ornery, cantankerous man to return it so easily. He knows it might be valuable and is hell-bent on securing it for himself.
He looks down at the book like he’s considering it for a moment, but before he has a chance, Ava takes it firmly from his hands.
‘Finders keepers! I was the first to spot it, and I want…’ She glances between us and then hands the book back to me. ‘I want Mickey to have it. She knows about fairytale stuff and old things.’
‘I have two history degrees! I know a fair bit about “old things” too. She thinks some bloke made half a dragon fruit into a table for his wife!’
I ignore him and clutch the book to my chest, turning around so he can’t grab it again, but instead, he steps away. It seems like Ava’s words have taken the wind out of his sails. I place it on the counter and brush my top down like I’ve been in a physical fight. ‘Thank you,’ I say to her. ‘Do you want to see what’s inside?’
She squeals and nods enthusiastically and I beckon her to come in behind the counter with me and then glance at Ren, who at least has the decency to look marginally guilty.
I feel like I should have white cotton gloves on as I open the cover a millimetre at a time, terrified that the spine is going to crack or the pages are going to fall out and scatter across the shop. It’s seriouslyold. The pages are brittle, the edges frayed, almost like they could’ve got wet and dried out again many moons ago. There’s a bookmark made of plaited wool, with shells hand-tied onto the ends of it, and the cover is so soft and well-worn that it feels like the leather might rub away under my fingertips.
‘Whatever this is, someone loved it very much.’ My voice is a whisper because it feels like speaking at a normal volume would be somehow disrespectful to the book.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ren creeping closer again, trying to feign disinterest but peering over anyway.
The writing on the first page is exquisite. The kind of handwriting you just don’t see in this day and age. Ink blotches from a dip pen and inkwell, and calligraphy-like looped letters of faded wording. ‘Sixteenth of January 1899,’ I murmur aloud and glance at Ava. ‘It’s a diary!’
‘Should we read it?’ she asks. ‘Diaries are private and whoever wrote it didn’t want it found.’
She’s got a point, but if thisisa hidden diary from 1899, there’s nowaywe’re not reading it, and my eyes have already picked out the first line and to say I’m intrigued is an understatement. ‘Well, whoever it belonged to will be long gone by now, and maybe they’d like to think of their legacy living on and their words being read by strangers over a century later…’
‘It could have historical value,’ Ren says, and despite his earlier attempt at stealing it, I give him a grateful smile for justifying my nosiness, and he takes that as a cue to come closer until he’s standing on the other side of the counter again, reading the book upside down, and some parts of his stiff dark hair break free from their product and fall forwards.
‘And maybe we were meant to find it?’ I suggest. ‘I mean, it made itself known just at that moment. Maybe it wanted to be found and it thought we were the right people…’
‘Ididfeel like this chest was meant for me as soon as I saw it. So you think it’s okay? We’re not going to get in any trouble?’
‘I think it’s fine,’ I say, feeling a swell of pride that she turned to me for reassurance like I’m an authority on old things. ‘I think we’d be doing the author a disservice if we didn’t.’
She nods like that’s all she needed to hear, and I’m touched by how thoughtful she is. I deal with old things for a living, and it wouldn’t even have crossed my mind to question the morals behind reading someone else’s diary, at least, not when it belongs to a stranger from so long ago.
I start reading the first entry aloud.
16 January 1899
