41
After a busy weekend at the store, Celeste finally found time on a calm Monday morning to break away for a few hours. She and Jack left mid-morning for an estate sale right in town on Bangs Street. She had no qualms about leaving Gemma in charge. Their customers seemed to love her.
Jack held her hand as they strolled up Commercial. After all their years as a couple, Celeste still felt that antiquing was the most romantic thing she and Jack did together. More than a sunset sail, more than an early morning walk by the salt marshes. Maybe even more than having sex. The store was their baby and collecting pieces to “feed” it was a timeworn, beloved ritual.
“Wait—is that . . .” Celeste spotted Elodie a block away, hands on her hips in her usual imperial stance, looking up at the sign hanging above the empty storefront that had been a stationery shop for decades. She held a paint swatch against the doorway.
Celeste dropped Jack’s hand. “Look—Elodie’s up to something at the stationery shop.”
“So I see,” he said.
“What’s she doing?” Celeste said, her stomach tensing.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
When they were within earshot, she called out, “Hey there—what’s going on?”
Elodie turned and broke into a suspiciously big smile. “Oh, hello there, you two. You haven’t heard? I’m surprised. Good news usually travels so fast around here.”
Celeste crossed her arms, sweat trickling down the back of her neck.
“What news?”
“I’m looking into leasing this space. I think what this town needs is a high-end jewelry store, don’t you?”
She couldn’t be serious. “No. I don’t.”
“This is the perfect spot for a Pavlin & Co outpost. Or, what do the kids call it these days? A pop-up.”
Celeste turned to Jack. “What did she just say?” Of course she’d heard it loud and clear. She was just hoping Jack might tell her otherwise.
“Well, we wish you luck, Elodie,” Jack said, taking Celeste by the elbow and steering her back into walk-mode. “We’re late for an estate sale.”
“Enjoy!” Elodie called out gaily. “Keep an eye out for the invitation to the grand opening.”
It was all Celeste could do not to break into a run. As soon as they rounded the corner, she stopped in her tracks.
“I can’t believe this!” she said, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I have to talk to Pamela. She can’t lease that space to my sister.”
“Oh, Celeste. Elodie isn’t competition for us. We’re in a totally different business.”
“That’s not the point. This town is my home. Mine. She doesn’t belong here.”
“The town’s not big enough for the both of you?” he teased.
“No. Frankly, it’s not. New York City wasn’t big enough for the both of us.”
“Come on, don’t let this spoil the day.” He took her by the hand again and led her up the gravel path to their destination. The house was a stunning example of the Middle Georgian architecture that had been popular during the whaling era, with a two-story open porch with a pediment roof and a widow’s walk. “I remember the first time I went with you to one of these sales. The only thing that could possibly get me off the water and into an old inland house was my adoration of you.”
They stood on the porch, facing each other.
“Oh, Jack,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Well, yes, let’s have fun inside. I know a lot of the items will be expensive, but even if we don’t manage to sell, it’s worth having in the store just for the cachet.”
Jack looked skeptical. “I’m not so sure about that. We need to be careful. Sell-through is important this summer.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We need to start thinking about retirement.”
“Retirement? What’s gotten into you? I think this upcoming birthday is messing with your head. We don’t need to change everything just because you’re turning sixty.”
“Easy for you to say as a spry woman in her fifties.”
“I’m serious,” she said.
“Retirement is a reasonable thing to consider, Celeste. You’re just on a hair trigger.”
Was she? Well, the run-in with her sister didn’t help. She couldn’t possibly be serious about bringing Pavlin & Co to Commercial Street. Was this about the auction paperwork? Or was this Elodie making good on her threat from years ago—the promise of payback?
The phone call came on a summer morning decades ago, waking her.
Her sister was yelling, screaming at her. Celeste could only make out every other sentence or so, but they all sounded like “How could you?” Then, something about the New York Post. About Celeste betraying her (“I’d expect this from Paulina. But you? How could you keep this from me? And be with them?”). And then, before hanging up, her final pronouncement: “You’ll pay for this.” Celeste, completely confused, could only look directly to the source for answers. When the Provincetown library opened, she found the answer in the black-and-white headline of the Post gossip pages: “Cape Cad.” She’d thought, standing at the periodicals table, still in her pajama pants, confronted with the photo of herself on the beach with Paulina and Liam, that things couldn’t get any worse. They did.
Provincetown was her escape from all that. Until now.
“Jack, it’s really a lot for me to have my sister and my niece here all summer. It’s been great getting to know Gemma but—”
“But what?” He looked at her. “She’s doing a good job at the store. And Elodie might not be your favorite person, but I think now that you’ve spent some time with her, you can see she’s harmless.”
Celeste swallowed hard.
“Gemma wants to start selling her jewelry in the shop.”
“Great. She’s talented. The stuff is nice. Figure out a fair cut and let her.” He kissed her. “Stop worrying about your sister and your niece. My mother always said, if you look for trouble, you’ll find it. So let’s look for some bargains around here instead.”
With that, he rang the doorbell. The conversation was over.
Connor opened the door before Gemma had a chance to knock. He was dressed in a white linen shirt, navy shorts, and driving shoes without socks. Behind him, sunlight streamed through large windows. It was like he was standing on a movie set constructed to accentuate his New England good looks.
“Come on in,” he said.
The front door opened to a foyer leading directly into a spacious living room. The walls were white, the floors red birch. Anywhere she looked there was a window. The space was uncluttered but accented with perfect touches like Turkish throw rugs, nautical pillows, framed photos of sailboats on the wall, and a glass vase of sunflowers on the wood coffee table next to a wide beeswax candle. In one corner, a wicker basket was filled with magazines.
“I brought this for you. A friend told me it’s a local favorite.” She handed Connor the bottle of Helltown rosé she’d picked up at Perry’s on Alvie’s recommendation, a tip that came along with a reminder not to have sex, at least not yet.
“What kind of advice is that? Don’t act like you don’t have sex on a first date.”
“I’m gay and you’re straight. Different rules,” she said.
The truth was, she hadn’t slept with anyone since Sanjay and she wasn’t sure she was ready to start that night. Even if sex with someone else might be the only way she could move on.
She followed Connor into the kitchen, where he had dinner on the stove. It was another airy room, with windows overlooking the garden, bead-board cabinets, and soapstone countertops with marble, mosaic tile backsplash.
“Shall I open this? I also have a great Cab Franc, or a Riesling. Whatever you want,” he said.
“You pick,” she said self-consciously.
The kitchen smelled like sautéed onions and peppers. A large wooden salad bowl brimmed with romaine. Connor uncorked the rosé and poured two glasses.
“To the summer ahead,” he said, touching his glass to hers. “And to new friends.”
“To new friends.” She sipped the wine, barely tasting it and resisting the urge to gulp it down. It felt strange to be on a date with someone other than Sanjay. No, don’t think about him now.
“So, here’s the deal: Everything is prepped. All I need to do is boil water when you’re hungry. Do you want a tour of the house first?”
“Sure,” she said.
He led her through the rest of the first floor, which had two more sitting rooms in addition to the living room she’d seen when she walked in. The rooms all had the same pale, neutral palette—a chic, soothing simplicity. Through the open windows she smelled the briny air coming off the bay and a hint of lavender from the garden.
The red birch stairs leading to the second floor had a blue and white runner down the center and a curved banister.
“Here’s the guest room,” he said, opening a door to a room three times the size of her space at Aunt Celeste’s. “And the bathroom . . .”
Her nerves ticked up again. Of course, this whole tour was leading to one place: the master bedroom. Alvie hadn’t needed to warn her; she had no intention of sleeping with Connor on the first date. Maybe not ever.
The minimalist room, all white bead-board walls with a wrought-iron four-poster bed punctuated by an antique trunk at the foot, had clearly been crafted around the spectacular view: French doors led to a balcony and the beach across the street. The light played off the water in a way that seemed to channel it directly into the house.
“Wow,” she said. “I don’t think I’d be able to get any sleep here because I’d just be staring out the window all night.”
“It’s even better outside,” he said, waving her forward. She followed him onto the balcony, but by the time she was facing the view, he stood so close to her that the water was no longer the thing taking her breath away.
Connor leaned on the balustrade, and the breeze blew a lock of hair into his face. He brushed it back, tilting his head to look at her with a smile. The light caught his golden stubble, his eyes more intense than she’d seen before. And then he leaned forward, brushing her lips ever so lightly with his own. She leaned into the kiss, her intense feelings of attraction taking her by surprise.
“Get a room!” someone called from the street down below, while someone else applauded.
“Maybe it’s time to eat?” she said, pulling back. He smiled at her.
“I’m starving.”
He was from a “good” Boston family. His father was a hand surgeon at Boston Children’s. His mother was a Rhode Island Biddle. Growing up, she’d lived right next door to the Bouviers when Jackie was a debutante. Neither one of them approved of his career in the art trade.
“It’s fine to collect art, but dealing it is considered gauche. They wanted me to follow in my father’s footsteps but there was no way.”
She sipped her wine. “So how’d you do it? Fund the gallery, I mean.”
“I found investors.”
She perked up. “How?”
“There’s a lot of money in Boston,” he said. “New York isn’t the only playing field.”
She looked at him with new interest.
“Could you make some introductions for me?”
“For you? Your family is loaded.”
“So’s yours.”
“Touché,” he said. “I guess business mixes better with strangers. Sometimes it’s hard for people to see the value that’s right there in front of them. But when it comes to you, I don’t have that problem.”
He leaned forward and kissed her again. She still didn’t know if she wanted to have sex with him. But the thought of meeting his money people definitely turned her on.