Page 69 of Wrapped with a Beau

“Can I help you, young man?”

Caught by surprise, Ves nearly drops his phone. The owner slowly ambles over, eyeing the trinket jar and music box on the counter in front of Ves. He points and says, “Don’t think that’s one of ours, but the glass is ten dollars. I can dump the junk out for you.”

“I’m actually more interested in the keys,” says Ves.

“The keys?” The man’s wiry white eyebrows bunch together. “They’re just odds and ends. Worthless. Don’t fit into anything, that’s why they ended up here.”

But if even one of them fits, it’ll be worth it. “I brought my own music box,” says Ves. “The original key was lost a long time ago, but I was hoping to check and see whether any of these would work. I’m happy to buy the lot. And the jar.”

The old man keeps staring. “You’re Maeve’s boy, aren’t you?”

“Erm. Her great-nephew, yes.”

“I’m Jimmy. Remember you from when you were a kid. Quietest little boy I ever saw, but you sure did love your chocolate.” The man laughs, smacking his own barrel chest with his hand. “No family of Maeve’s is going to pay me to try a few keys. Here, take this stool. Sit down, you won’t break it. That’s fine Pennsylvania Dutch craftsmanship, that is. You go on and try those keys, see if they sing for you.”

Ves attempts to protest, but the man tugs at him until he finally relents and takes the offered seat. “Thank you,” he says, a little embarrassed but nonetheless grateful.

Jimmy grunts. “What’s so important about getting in there, anyway?”

Ves tests the first key, which looks a bit too small, but looks can be deceiving so he’s intent on trying it anyway. “Maeve left this to someone. I don’t want to give something without a way to open it.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble,” says Jimmy, looking dubiously at the three keys Ves has already discarded. “I’ve got some more lying all over the shop. Want me to grab them for you?”

“If it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Jimmy hoots. “Of course it’s trouble, but I’m keen to see how this goes now.”

It takes three hours and Jimmy keeping the antique shop open ten minutes past its seven p.m. closing, but somewhere after a few hundred keys, they hear it. The tiny click of sweet, sweet success.

Jimmy gasps even louder than Ves, fully invested in their quest. Ves’s hands reek of metal, his fingers are stiffer than they are after pulling an all-nighter to meet a writing deadline, and he hasn’t been able to feel his ass for the last hour.

But it’s worth it when the lid opens to reveal the box’s secrets: a small, chipped ballerina, velvet-lined compartments filled with brooches and costume jewelry, and a yellow Post-it on the mirror that reads For Elisha Rowe in faded ballpoint. Jimmy gasps again when he recognizes the name.

“Thank you, sir,” says Ves, standing to shake the man’s hand. “I couldn’t have done this without your help.” His shoulders ache and his behind is still numb, but they fade to nil compared to the joy blooming in his chest. Likely, the value of the contents is purely sentimental rather than monetary, but he suspects that unlike his father, Elisha won’t mind. He’d rather Maeve’s jewelry go to her than anyone else.

“You sweet on the Rowe girl?” asks Jimmy, a hint of awe in his voice.

How does he answer that? “We’re seeing each other,” says Ves. “She’s helping me with the house.”

“Yup, Marcy and Dave told me about that. Still selling up?”

“That’s the plan,” Ves says absently, studying the box. It’s deeper than it looks, hiding at least one more compartment level than he guessed. He works his thumb into a corner to pull it up.

“Holy shit,” says Jimmy, getting the first look. With reverence, he says, “That’s from Sleighbells.”

Everything comes to a standstill. Heather Frederick’s pearls are nestled snugly into the velvet bottom.

Why—how?—does Maeve have this?

Chapter Thirty-Four

Elisha

You shouldn’t have given me your scarf,” Elisha chides after work the next day upon hearing what feels like Ves’s hundredth sniffle. “I wasn’t even that cold.” They’re on Maeve’s old-fashioned floral sofa, which Ves has covered in gray wool throws in an attempt to make it cozier and less, well, hideous. Thor and Thorin scamper between table legs, enjoying all the extra space that leaves them plenty of room to play.

“Wanted people to see you in it,” he mumbles from behind a Kleenex.

Those darn hibernating butterflies make a reappearance. Clearing her throat brusquely, she moves on. “It was fun having someone to wander around with me at the Christmas Market last night. I usually hang with Solana and Adam, but it sucks being the third wheel. Especially when it’s all couples and families browsing and it’s just a reminder that...” She shakes her head, scooching closer to him. “Anyway. I just wish you hadn’t gotten a cold because of me.”

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