Page 85 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

I distract myself with beaded bracelets, shiny necklaces, and dangly earrings. Eventually I find myself sorting through an entire box of rings, like coins in a treasure chest. I’m trying on a mood ring with an oversized square stone when a woman who looks like Esmerelda from my childhood obsession with The Hunchback of Notre Dame sweeps through a beaded curtain made of seashells. It swishes and clacks behind her. Her dark hair is streaked with silver, but her eyes are curious and vibrant.

“Hey there,” she says. “Looking for anything in particular?”

“Just browsing,” I offer with a smile. “I love your place.”

“Glad to hear it,” she grins. “A few things you should know. Large items can be shipped for a small fee. Everything in that corner is 50% off. The cats aren’t for sale. And there’s a very handsome gentleman browsing in the next room, about your age, I think. You could probably leave with him, too, if you wanted. He seems to have his eye on you.” She winks. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I’m left biting into my smile when she disappears, ignoring the way her teasing made my stomach flip and flutter.

As it always does when I’m in a place like this, time seems to warp and bend. I sniff a dozen different varieties of incense. I contemplate carved driftwood keepsakes. I imagine I’m the kind of woman who wears sparkly pashminas instead of pantsuits on weekdays.

I’m trying on a straw cowboy hat adorned with a jaunty peacock feather when I hear him chuckle behind me. The way he’s smiling when I turn around makes me uncharacteristically self-conscious. I prop a hand on my hip.

“What?” I defend.

“You look right at home.”

It’s an observation that makes me feel disarmed. Normally this feeling comes with the sudden urge to wield sarcasm like my favorite weapon, but I soften with a smirk.

“Thrift stores happen to be my natural habitat,” I admit. “My aunt owns one back home.”

“Nine Lives,” he nods.

I narrow my gaze. “Have you been stalking me again?”

“That retro sign they have out front is in the upper corner of the only framed photo in your entire office,” he says. “Context clues.”

“Hm. You’re more investigative than I gave you credit for.”

“All this time you’ve kept me around for my good looks?” he teases.

I’m removing the jaunty headpiece and tousling my hair when he says, “Keep the hat. It’s yours. I already paid for it.”

I bristle with a laugh. “What? Why? I can buy my own hats, you know.”

“Don’t worry. It’s entirely selfish,” he says. “I like the way you smile when you wear it.”

It’s entirely unintentional that when he says this, a small, strange little smile plays across my lips. His gaze travels along the curve of my mouth and up again.

“Yup,” he smirks. “Just like that.”

He tips the brim of my hat, and before I can react, he’s already halfway out the door. I trail after him, slipping back into my sunglasses as we breeze outside.

“I see you found something you liked,” Mary-Esmerelda calls from her spot on the front porch swing. She winks at me in a way that makes my heart flip. It’s so knowing. What does she know? I don’t have a chance to ask. She is returning to her book and bidding us goodbye. “Make sure you check The Pole when you go through town. It’s by the bank. You can’t miss it.”

I thank her with a wave and jog to catch up to Quentin, who is halfway down the sandy stone path that connects to the street. When I fall into step beside him, I inspect the small canvas shopping bag he’s carrying. I reach for it curiously.

“What did you get?”

He hesitates, holding it out of my grasp. “Why do I feel like you’re about to judge me?”

“The partners won’t keep secrets,” I say.

His mouth edges up at the corner as he passes me the bag. Fluttery anticipation spreads through me as I carefully sort through his purchases. They include:

An actual fountain pen.

Stunning vintage cufflinks in a combination of mother of pearl and gold, with a maritime compass design inlaid into them.

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