Summer Breeze by Nancy Thayer

Maybe, maybe not. Bella wanted to try it. She wanted to try a lot of things—her mind was teeming with ideas.
    She would go through the store today, organize her thoughts, and make a sketch, a kind of presentation to show her parents. They would give her good advice, she knew.
    Bella walked around the shop, studying the display cases, the exhibits, the spaces. Lucy Lattimer’s stuffed dolls with stitched eyes and smiles were, to Bella’s mind, a complete waste of space. She didn’t know if they had ever sold even one of the dolls. They were quaint, but in a way they were also a bit creepy, because Lucy’s stitching was uneven, giving the dolls cartoon faces, jack-o’-lantern faces. Lucy was the mother of a friend of Louise’s; she had been in her eighties, living with her daughter. Bella could remember specifically ganging up with Beatrice against Louise, demanding to know why she wanted to take up space with those bizarro items.
    “It gives Lucy something to do,” Louise had told them. “It lets her feel capable of making something pretty.”
    “In other words,” said Beatrice—who, as the oldest child, could be caustic with her mother when she felt like it—“you’re helping your friend by keeping her mother out of her hair for a while.”
    “You’re a cynical child,” Louise had retorted mildly, but her mouth had quirked up and she hadn’t denied the accusation.
    Lucy Lattimer must be in her nineties now. These dolls were sixteen years old, and their sweet milkmaid costumes were limp. For that matter, Lucy herself hadn’t come into the shop for years—Bella didn’t know if she was even ambulatory.
    If she could get rid of the dolls, cover the corny murals on thewalls, focus more on the furniture, and perhaps bring in some art, some of Natalie’s work to begin with …
    She was aware of an approaching motor, and all of its own accord, her heart leapt. Before she could stand up, she heard the bell tinkle and the bottom half of the blue door open and shut.
    Bella stood up, turned toward the door, and saw Slade standing there.
    “Slade!” Was she blushing or did she just feel hot?
    “Hey.” He was long and lean in black jeans and a black tee shirt. He took his sunglasses off as he walked toward her. “Wow,” he said.
    A shiver feathered down Bella’s spine. “Wow?”
    He walked right up to her, so close they were almost touching. Reaching out his hand, he stroked the gargoyle cabinet. “I thought so,” he mumbled, talking to himself. “This is the real deal. It needs to be stripped.”
    “It’s nice to see you again, too,” Bella said, lacing her voice with just a thread of sarcasm.
    “What?” Slade cast a quick glance Bella’s way.
    His eyes were the deepest blue.
    “Hello?” Bella said.
    Slade got it. “Sorry. Hi, Bella. I’ve just been thinking about this piece for days now. I wasn’t sure it was original. You don’t see many like this, but this is the real thing. Bella, your family must be English.”
    “Well, duh, Barnaby .” Something about the man made Bella defensive, like a goofy adolescent talking with a rock star.
    “I’ve been checking. This piece, Bella”—Slade slapped his hand against it gently—“this piece could bring you around fifteen thousand dollars.”
    She almost fell over. “You’re kidding.”
    “I’m not kidding. This is my field of expertise. This is what I do.” He peered at her as if she were a newt emerging from under a rock. “You don’t have any idea what you’ve got here, do you?”
    “Well, sort of. I’ve always loved my grandparents’ furniture, and when they died, I insisted on having some of their pieces in my bedroom, even though they’re big, dark, and not the slightest bit girly.”
    He leaned toward her. “You have more pieces like this?” Before she could answer, he grabbed both her shoulders. “Bella, this is something antiques dealers dream about! A find like this!”
    Bella was paralyzed by his touch, his