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A HALF-HOUR LATER, Scotty dropped us off at an antique shop on the Upper West Side that was within walking distance ofa couple others. I tried to space out my visits so there would be more inventory to sift through, and since it’d been months since I was last here, I was overdue and hoping for a successful haul.
I chanced a look in Daire’s direction, trying not to make it noticeable. He’d been quiet on the ride over, and I had to remind myself that was nothing unusual. Daire wasn’t a chatty kind of guy, but when he’d taken my hand and led me to the back seats of the Sprinter, it helped ease the residual nerves I’d felt at dragging him along.
Daire wanted me close, and that spoke louder than any words he could’ve said.
“You ready?”
He nodded and stepped up to the door, pulling it open for me, and I was so shocked that I just stood there.
“Are you?”
I shook myself out of my daze and tried not to skip over to him, but it was hard with the way my heart had just stuttered several beats. Because who was this guy holding open adoorfor me, and what had he done with Daire?
As I went to walk by, Daire leaned down and said by my ear, “What? Your other dates didn’t open the door for you?”
My feet faltered. “Dates?”
“Yeah. That’s what we’re on, isn’t it?”
I hadn’t wanted to call it that in case he freaked out—kind of like I was doing right now—but ifDairewanted to call it that, I wouldn’t stop him.
“I, uh…yeah. I guess we are.”
Daire’s lips quirked. “You’re blushing.”
I cursed my pale skin as heat bloomed on my cheeks, then I shoved him in the arm. “You’re not supposed to point that out.”
“Why not? It’s cute.”
What in theworldwas happening right now? I’d thought I was going to have to tiptoe around Daire all day like one woulda bear. But instead of dodging angry swings, I found myself wanting to crawl in his lap.
I stepped inside the store, needing to get out of the doorway, and as the door swung shut behind us I heard, “Holy shit.”
“I hope you’re ready to dig.”
Daire stepped up beside me, staring down the first of several narrow rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves. They were jam-packed full of miscellaneous items spanning decades, and only loosely organized. It was overwhelming, to say the least.
“You wanna look through all this? For acompass? Could you have picked anything smaller?”
I chuckled and hooked my arm through his. “I’m so tempted to say yes, just to see you sweat, but no. There’s a section where Anita puts anything new that comes in for me to look through.”
Daire swallowed, visibly relieved, as we started down the aisle. “Does that saydoorknobs?”
I turned to see what he was looking at and spotted several storage containers. “Yep. Depending what decade you’re in, styles changed for things like doors and doorknobs, flooring, trim and molding, corbels—all kinds of things. If someone is looking to do a true restoration, then these are the places they come to find year-specific pieces.”
“Corbels? What the hell is that?”
“Oh, uh, you know the fancy decorative supports that jut out from the wall under balconies or overhangs. They’re there to support extra weight, but sometimes they flank a door— Aaand I’ve lost you.”
Daire nodded. “Yeah, you lost me the second you said ‘fancy.’”
I snorted and tugged him around a corner into another row that was full of doors all lined up against each other.
“Damn. They really pack a lot of sh—stuff in here, don’t they?”
“They sure do. You know the saying, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
Daire’s eyes found mine and I was shocked to see that familiar guarded look back in his.
