“You aren’t sure from earlier?”
“It’s always best to double-check.” He nipped at my bottom lip. “Unless you’d rather talk about the economy or the latest celebrity scandal or something.”
I raced to the door, dragging him behind me by our joined hands. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
17
HARI
“Do you have plans this morning?”
We were at my place and we were drinking the coffee I’d just made. Remy flung a leg over my hip and kissed my shoulder.
“I could stay here all day if that’s what you’re thinking.”
It’d be nice, but I had other plans. “Maybe we can crawl back into bed this afternoon.”
Remy closed one eye. Maybe he was thinking back to our date in the showroom and was expecting something similar.
“So, what are we doing? Sniffing out different types of wood? Sanding down an almost finished piece of furniture?” He chuckled and added that date days and nights with me were interesting.
“We’re going to an antique furniture auction.”
“Of course we are. Where else would a guy who makes his own furniture be going on his day off?”
“Exactly.” I was pleased he understood.
But Remy tilted his head and was staring at me. Damn, I’d missed something. Oh shoot, he was being sarcastic.
“There are so many interesting pieces at these auctions.” We did occasionally add some pre-loved furniture in the showroom. It showed customers how modern furniture could be used with antiques, which added texture and history to a room.
He shrugged. “I’m happy to explore more of your world and to discover it’s not all about starting from scratch, but can we stop off along the way and get some of those bacon sandwiches you brought me last week?”
Eating greasy bacon in the car and smelling of the stuff before we attended an auction wasn’t part of the plan, but nothing some wet wipes and mouth spray wouldn’t fix.
“This is where the auction is?” Remy peered out the windshield as I turned a corner in the old industrial area. These city blocks used to hum with the sound of machinery but many had been converted into art galleries, upmarket apartments, restaurants, and auction houses.
The Saturday-morning auctions were usually filled with antique dealers, interior decorators looking for particular pieces for their clients, and the general public who’d found something in the auction catalogue that piqued their interest.
I signed us in and gave Remy the paddle.
“Oh, am I the one with the power?” He held it up, and I yanked his arm down. Auction patrons—and the auctioneer—took this business seriously and didn’t enjoy people making fun of the process.
“Don’t wave it unless you’re prepared to pay.”
“Opps, sorry.” He giggled, telling me he wasn’t really, and I took the paddle from him. “Are you looking for something in particular?” He was at my heels as I headed to the preview room.
“Mmmm. A Victorian sideboard.”
“Oh, right. I’ve had one of those on my wish list forever.”
I rolled my eyes at him as we reached the sideboard, and I kneeled in front of it. It was a huge piece and made of mahogany. I slid open the door and studied the corner joints. Whoever made it knew their craft.
“Is it what you expected?” Remy crouched beside me and placed his hand on the wood. “It’s stunning, and I’m sorry for laughing at you.”
“The joinery is excellent.” I ran a finger along the inside edge of the frame. “But it’s these handles that I’m here for. You can’t buy these new.”
Remy tugged one of the handles. “They’re beautiful, but I feel sorry for the sideboard because if you win the bid, the piece and the handles are going to be separated.”
