Page 96 of The Affair
He shrugged. “I don’t think flea markets were nearly as popular a few decades ago. People are definitely way more into made-over junk these days.”
“Made-over junk?”
“Yeah,” he explained. “Like that.”
When he motioned towards a booth that looked like something out of a Chip and Joanna Gaines magazine, I found myself wandering toward it.
“What would you think about doing something like this in the store? It’s antique but totally on trend right now.” I pointed to an old window frame someone had turned into a gorgeous wall hanging.
“I think its genius. You’ve already got everything you need. It would be easy.”
“I do?” I asked.
He nodded. “You have the space, and your customers are the right kind—when you have them.”
“Thanks.” I laughed. “But you’re forgetting one important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I have no idea how to make anything like this.”
Taking a closer look, he took note of the paint color and construction. “I could make this in an hour. Maybe less if properly motivated.” His wink had my heart racing.
“Oh? And what kind of motivation would work on you?”
Pulling me closer, he wrapped his arm around my waist. “I’m sure you could think of something.”
“Can I help you two with anything?” An old man approached us, his eyes settling on Sawyer’s hand, which had drifted down to my ass.
“Um…” I stumbled. “Nope. We’re good.”
I felt high on this new idea and the touch of his hands on my body, and we left the booth, intent on finding something a bit rougher around the edges.
“What about this?” he suggested, pulling me into a mess of a tent.
My organized nature had me wanting to leave immediately as I surveyed the piles of what appeared to be trash. But the closer I looked, the more I saw.
“That actually would be perfect,” I said with enthusiasm, moving a few things aside to reveal a window similar to the one we’d seen moments earlier. The major difference? The condition. While the other window had been refinished and spruced up with a beautiful wreath, this one looked like it had fallen out of the back of a pickup.
I watched as Sawyer picked it up, checking out the joints and condition of the wood.
“Yeah, this would be easy to turn around.”
“With the proper motivation?” I added.
“Of course.” He grinned. “Let’s see what else we can find.”
And so we did. In that booth alone, we spent a solid hour, combing through the mess for things that could be upcycled for a quick profit. Eventually, the owner pitched in and helped us, telling us stories of where he’d found each piece.
“That was from my family farm,” he explained, pointing to the old set of skeleton keys I’d grabbed. “Found them in the barn ages ago.”
“And you don’t want them?” I asked, looking down at the rusted metal like it was a precious piece of art.
“No,” he answered. “If I kept everything I had like this, the missus would never forgive me.”
I laughed, placing the keys in the pile we’d made, and soon, he was in the middle of another acquisition story. He seemed to have one for each random thing, down to the very last rusted piece of metal. The old man reminded me a lot of my mom, always on the hunt for things long since forgotten. Like Mom, he’d been slowly building his collection over the years, his job taking him to various old houses in the area.
Treasure hunters of a sort.
