Page 16 of The Affair
“And your mom leaving?” he pressed. “I know you two were close.”
I swallowed, unprepared for his pointed questions. “She needed a change,” I answered, using her words when my own were failing.
I watched as he moved about the front of the store, checking out random things as he went. He picked up one of Candace’s mugs and read the caption—Happy Fall, Y’all—and smiled to himself before placing it back on the counter. Normally, this behavior wouldn’t bother me. I was a storeowner after all, and customers browsing was usually a good thing.
But Sawyer was no regular customer, and I had a feeling he wasn’t here to buy himself a new coffee mug.
“So, why are you here, Sawyer? I don’t believe you mentioned that.” I leaned against the counter, trying my best not to stare.
It’d always been difficult not to stare when it came to Sawyer Gallagher. Growing up, I’d done a good job of ignoring him, but now that he was here, I couldn’t look away.
It was incredibly annoying.
His eyes spun toward the back of the store, and he pointed. “How do your rental spaces work?”
His question confused me.
“Why?” I asked. “Gallagher Construction into dealing antiques now?”
He chuckled under his breath. “No, nothing like that. Just a side project I’ve been working on lately.”
Clearly, he wasn’t forthcoming with the information, and one of us needed to be, so I decided to treat him like any potential client looking to rent space in the store and lay out the basics.
“We have a limited number of booths or spaces available to rent. They’re mostly used by local collectors or people trying to make a profit off their inheritance. The fee is three hundred a month, and the rental term is six months at a time. For each piece you sell, we take six percent.”
He nodded his head, which seemed to be processing at a quantum level as he paced around the floor. “And do you limit the products to just antiques?”
I looked around, my eyebrows raised. “Well, you are in an antique store.”
“Yes, but this coffee mug isn’t an antique,” he argued, picking up the same cup he’d been eyeing before.
I huffed in frustration. “No, but Candace is an exception. Her products all stay by the register and front counter and are limited. Besides, they sell like crazy.”
“So, wouldn’t it be rational to assume that if there were products like these in the store, you might sell more?”
I rose from my hunched position at the counter and walked a little closer. “Are you here on behalf of Candace, or is there something you actually wanted?”
That dimpled grin I remembered so much stretched across his face. “Candace can fight her own battles. I’m here for me. I want a booth,” he stated. “But I don’t want to sell antiques.”
“And what exactly are you planning on selling?”
“Custom furniture.”
My mouth gaped open. “Furniture?”
Had he not noticed the abundance of furniture we already had lying around here?
“I told you, I have my own side project going. And it’s not that much of a stretch. I am a general contractor. I’m good with my hands.”
“Okay, you’ve got me there.” I tried not to look at the hands in question. “But why come to me? Why not throw up a website or go to a crafts fair?”
“I have a website. But it’s gone nowhere,” he explained, pulling out his phone and stepping next to me to show me.
With him this close, I could smell his aftershave, or maybe it was his soap. Whatever it was, it smelled a little too good.
“See?” he said, showing me the web page he’d created. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was pretty damn nice.
I immediately grabbed the phone out of his hand and began scrolling through the gallery of photos.
