Page 19 of The Yes Factor

“Oh my God, speaking of Dynasty, look at this headshot of Joan Collins!” Liv squeals, running over to lift it out of the crate it’s stacked in, the heavy emotion of our conversation left behind.

“What was that girl talking about? My dress looked nothing like that! The shoulders weren’t nearly as puffy!” I say with a fake scowl.

“Puh-lease, you looked fabulously sexy. Nobody at that party was wearing enough clothes to know anything about fashion. And anyway, Joan looks hot in this pic.” Liv gives a final envious glance at the photo. “I’d kill for a dress and earrings like that.”

I nod my head toward the sunshine. “Let’s mosey on, shall we?”

Standing at the edge of the tent, staying in the shade until we get our bearings, we simultaneously inhale the aroma of churros and in unspoken agreement turn right, as if heading to Mecca, the breeze blowing the hair from our faces. We pass a stall of silhouette portraits, and another that’s overflowing with handmade soaps and lotions. Diagonal from the Santa Barbara Soap Co. I spot a gorgeous Eastlake mirror made of intricately carved mahogany. It’s in near perfect condition, with only a hint of oxidation on the glass. Sweeping my gaze quickly over the items in this stall, I can see that this vendor has my kind of taste. Unpainted wooden furniture, that has either been painstakingly restored to its former glory, or left unfinished waiting for the right pair of loving hands to bring it back to life. I feel like the latter—a pair of loving hands would do wonders for my soul.

I look over at a sign hanging from the tent structure and smile as I read, “If You’re Gonna Paint it – DON’T buy it.” Obviously, the lady who owns this stall is a woman of my own heart. I inwardly chuckle with amusement and look around for the owner, assuming she’ll be the twin I never knew I had.

Not seeing anyone, my attention is drawn back to the glorious Eastlake mirror, and I approach it for a closer inspection and catch a glimpse of myself. My cheeks are rosy from the heat, and even though I feel tired from last night’s shenanigans, I don’t look half bad. My makeup-less face and no fuss hair may not be glamorous, but I feel like myself. Despite the craziness, Liv’s visit has already done wonders for me.

“Liv!” I call out, getting her attention. “Come look at this. It is to die for.” I don’t bother whispering or hiding my interest. There is no amount of bargaining that will bring this down to my price point.

“So gorgeous. Totally you.”

Standing side by side, Liv lifts an invisible microphone to her mouth and busts

out, “I’m starting with the woman in the mirror!” changing man to woman because, well, that’s what we always do whenever we sing this song together, which we’ve been doing since the sixth grade. As we round out the verse, a slow clap of applause strikes up behind us. We turn around, slightly embarrassed, but at the same time, not really giving a damn.

“You guys are awesome,” a teenage girl with the vibe of a young Alicia Keys says with an approving nod. She has a soulful and organic beauty, seemingly comfortable in her own skin. “What do you think of the Eastlake? Awesome, huh?”

I look at her in surprise and ask, not masking how impressed I am, “You know a lot about antiques?”

“Oh yeah. It’s in my DNA. We found this beauty last summer when my dad and I were on a road trip to visit my mom’s grave in Louisiana. We spotted it at a garage sale near Lafayette. Got it for a song! But, don’t tell him I told you.” She leans in conspiratorially. My heart twists with compassion. This is a young girl who’s been through a lot but it’s obvious she’s a fighter.

Liv and I are both enchanted by her. “Don’t worry, we won’t say anything!”

“I’m Chloe, by the way.”

“Bex.” I extend my hand.

Liv introduces herself and then asks, “So, this is your dad’s booth?”

Oh, no. I can already see Liv’s wheels turning. Maintaining my smile, I turn pointedly toward Liv, wanting her to know that I know what she’s thinking. But Chloe doesn’t know Liv like I do and innocently calls out, “Dad! Hey, Dad! Come over here and meet Bex and Liv. They’re looking at the Eastlake.” Chloe leans in close to us. “Please don’t say anything about Lafayette and the garage sale, he’d kill me.” She rolls her eyes skyward.

“Your secret is safe with us,” I reassure her as both Liv and I nod in unison. Chloe gives us a smile then turns to greet a couple who are eyeing a mid-century modern coffee table.

Liv doesn’t waste a second, hissing in my ear, “I don’t know about you, but between this booth and that hunk of a man over there, I think we have a deal!” Liv gives me a little spank on the rear like we’re in the NFL and she’s motivating me to get out on the field for a winning touchdown.

“Don’t get all worked up. Today’s a day off. You can’t keep pushing me into every man we meet.”

“But—” Liv protests, so I stop her before she can go any further.

“Liv, I’ll talk to him because it’s rude to just leave, but this is not happening today. After last night, I need a break from saying yes.”

Liv gives me an exaggerated pout and rolls her eyes.

I turn around to see the man who must be Chloe’s dad. He’s leaning over an account ledger, running his finger down the page, engaged enough that he doesn’t notice me taking him in. He’s around six foot two with a strong, sturdy build, a man that works with his hands. His complexion is darker than Chloe’s. The simple aqua colored shirt he’s wearing makes his skin appear luminescent. Liv wasn’t wrong when she called him a hunk. But, wait. Hold on. I recognize this guy. “Oh my God,” I mutter under my breath.

I turn back to face Liv, who’s watching me with that knowing smirk of hers, but she doesn’t know the half of it. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, okay? I want to check out a few things. You’re gonna talk to him, right? You can say yes to that, can’t you?” Liv practically skips away, waving to Chloe as she disappears out of sight.

I look over to Chloe and then to her dad again. Yep, there is no mistaking it. Chloe is a little older than the Café du Monde photo, but it’s obviously them. When I swiped left on him earlier this week, I felt like I had lost a real opportunity. I didn’t get to read his whole bio, but there was something about him. Something in his eyes and smile. Seeing him now, in the flesh, there’s a calmness about him, like he’s never rushed in his life, yet is never late. He exudes an air of powerful serenity, a stillness in this whirlwind of weekend deal-seekers and looky-loos. When I saw the Eastlake from afar, I’d expected a woman to be the mastermind of these beautifully restored pieces, but now that I see this man, it makes perfect sense. The wood sings at his pitch and frequency. I look around the stall, immersing myself in the energy of this song.

“Bex?”

I’m startled out of my reverie, gearing myself up to speak but suddenly feeling very nervous.

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