Page 26 of Surprise Baby for Mr. Fischer
“Okay. Let’s start here on the first floor.”
He took my arm in his. His touch created a warmth in my chest that radiated outward as we moved from room to room. With reluctance, I pulled my arm from his so I could take pictures of notable furniture and write detailed descriptions in my notebook.
The house had ten rooms downstairs. That didn’t include the bathrooms, kitchen prep space, and a small in-law suite. My hands itched to touch the dark mahogany hutch in the dining room. Inside was an old complete Johnson Brothers semi-porcelain dish set with flowers and a beautiful gold trim.
But my favorite room, hands down, was the library. It still held all the old books that had been collected over the years by the previous owners. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the antique writing desk off to the side. Its graceful French provincial lines were beautiful and the wood finish was in pristine condition. I could picture myself sitting behind it, working on my pickers vlog.
“A friend of mine deals in antique books and restoration. I could ask him to look at your book collection to see if there’s anything of value here.” Jaxon, a friend of Dean’s, would know far more about what to do with these books than I would. He was a professor of Literature at the local Ivy League university and specialized in rare books. A few months back he’d purchased a book my sister, Hope, had unknowingly acquired at an estate sale.
“A friend?” he asked. The words were said with such nonchalance that I almost missed the flash of jealousy that tightened his face.
“Yes, a friend. And even if he wasn’t just a friend, Lincoln, it’s been four months since I last saw you. You clearly knew how to find me.”
“I was filming in Canada. I had only been back in LA a few days before the director reached out to let me know I had the role. Filming started immediately.”
“Oh.” Now I felt like an ass. It’s not like I gave him my number to keep in touch. I couldn't blame him for not calling me when I didn't give him any other option. There wasn’t any other way to find me online either. The only site I kept running was my Singing Picker vlog. I hadn’t bothered with any other forms of social media.
“I hired a realtor the week I vacationed to find a house here. Three weeks ago, I signed the papers and tied up loose ends, and I came back.” He stopped and leaned against a nearby doorframe. “I couldn’t forget you no matter how hard I tried.”
He was effortlessly pushing past any objections I had about him. He was supposed to be a jerk and make offhand bad jokes about our time together, not be this sweet guy telling me he’d thought of me as often as I thought of him. He was making this too damn hard for me.
After our weekend was over, I shoved those memories into a box with a pretty bow labeled DO NOT OPEN OR RISK HEARTACHE. It had made it easier to forget all the things I’d loved about him.
“I never forgot you either,” I admitted.
He took my hand and tugged me out of the library.
“Hey, what are you doing? I haven’t sent my sister the photos from this room yet.”
“We can do it later,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I was going to save the best for last, but I can’t wait.”
He hurried down the hallway, dragging me along with him.
“Where are we going?” I asked. I didn’t love surprises, but I did love seeing his excitement.
He flashed me another grin. “I’m not going to tell you, so you might as well stop asking.”
We made our way out the door and into the backyard near the driveway where we’d both parked. Just beyond that was a three-car garage that matched the exterior of the house. He stopped at the entrance off to the side.
“Close your eyes.”
I let out a low huff, but did as he asked. “It’s going to be hard to see anything this way.”
He tapped the end of my nose. “Stop your grumbling. This will be worth it.”
The creak of the door filled my ears, then he led me forward only a few feet before he pulled me to a stop. I shuddered as his lips brushed against my ear. “Open them.”
I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and gasped.
The garage was filled with the type of antiques I favored. I’d regaled Lincoln with tales of my junk-cades during our weekend together. He knew my top ten scores before the weekend was through.
One-third of the garage was dedicated to housing old gas station pumps, metal, and wooden signs, some local and other from larger corporations, and boxes of toys filled the shelves surrounding the edges of the room. There was a particular pile in the middle that my hands itched to explore.
“You remembered.” I loved that there was a huge pile of items that were randomly piled together. The excitement for me was uncovering the diamonds in the rough.
Flutters of hope that we might be able to make this work whispered through me. He’d really listened to me that weekend when I rambled about my love of old signs and vintage motorcycles. Those were the hallmarks of a good father, right? Maybe we could have the fairytale—my picker lifestyle, a man who understands me, and a child who is loved by both of us.
He drew his arm around my shoulders and placed a kiss on top of my head. “Do you want to dive right in and see what’s here?”
