Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

“Not a fan of porn?” He emerged from the galley with a tray and set it on a table. “What about food porn?”

She surveyed the array of small bites—artisan cheese and fruit. And something that looked like caviar and crème fraîche. “That’s incredible. Did you do this?”

“Please,” he said. “I’m awesome, but not that awesome.”

She laughed and sampled a ripe raspberry. Trevor poured two glasses of sauvignon blanc, and they had a seat on the sofa.

“Cheers.” He tapped the rim of his glass against hers.

“Cheers,” she said. “I recognize this bottle.”

“From your former job up in Sonoma? Do you miss it?”

He’d listened. And remembered. What a concept. She tasted the wine with an indulgent sip. “That job used to be my life. Now it feels like a lifetime ago. And no, I don’t miss it.” Maybe she missed the steadiness and predictability, but nothing else. It was amazing how quickly her world had been turned on its head, from plodding and predictable to uncertain and chaotic. “What about you? What was your former job?”

“Staying ahead of the bill collectors,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t miss that, either.”

“Well, congratulations on all your books. What an extraordinary achievement, Trevor. Really.”

He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “I like you, Natalie Harper,” he said.

“Thanks. To be honest, I’m a bit tongue-tied around you.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Okay, now I more than like you.”

“What a nice thing to say.” She turned toward him on the sofa, tucking one leg under her.

“Remember what I said—guys don’t want to be thought of as nice.” He feigned a wounded look.

“Well, you should. Nice guys are my favorite kind. Every woman I know would agree with me.”

“What’s your least favorite kind?” he asked.

“Married guys.” It just popped out of her.

He set down his wineglass. “Something tells me there’s a bit of background to that. Is there a married guy who did you wrong?”

“No. Not that I know of, anyway. I sure hope not.” She helped herself to more wine. “The guy who fathered me was married. Mom didn’t know until she was pregnant.”

“Damn. Some guys are too shitty to live.” He put his hand on her leg. “I hope your mom found somebody good enough for her.”

“I think about that a lot,” Natalie said. “She had boyfriends. Good guys, as far as I knew. But nothing that lasted.”

Tilting her head to one side, she studied him. He was put together. Handsome and charming. Too good to be true? She hoped not. “How about you? Mom and dad . . . ?”

He grinned and looked away, shifting the wine bottle in the ice bucket. “Still together.”

“And are they still living off the grid?”

“You could say that, if a gated community in Palm Springs is considered off the grid.”

“They must be incredibly proud of what you’ve achieved in your career,” she said.

The way he was watching her mouth left no doubt as to what was on his mind.

She skirted the thought. “So . . . what about you? Unattached? Dating? Heartbreak?”

“All of the above. But not currently.”

“Okay, then . . .” She shifted on the sofa. They talked about things—the books they both liked. Films they wanted to see. How the fall weather in the Bay Area always ended in gloom. He was nice to talk to, despite not wanting to be thought of as nice. He listened. He didn’t challenge her or pressure her. And he had good taste in wine and snacks.

Before she got too comfortable, she finished her wine and turned to him. “I should probably go. I need to open in the morning.”

He paused, studying her for a moment. Then he took out his phone. “I’ll call for a car.”

“Oh, thanks.” She’d taken the cable car and bus over and walked the rest of the way, but in the dark, a car would be great.

As they walked to the exit of the marina, he took her hand. “I like hanging out with you,” he said. “I hope we can do it some more.”

“Yes,” she said. “I . . . so do I.”

It turned out the ride he’d called wasn’t Uber or Lyft, but a sleek black car with a driver in a suit. Trevor existed in such a different world from hers.

At the curb, he drew her against him and kissed her good night. It was new. It was a little bit awkward, a little bit exciting. A feeling of warmth flickered and then settled. She pulled back and smiled up at him. “Thank you. See you around, Trevor.”

19

“What are you wearing to the gala?” Natalie asked Cleo. She had been reading the society pages, combing them for insights. It was one of the most celebrated social events of the year, the kind people like her only read about in breathless, aspirational gossip columns. The attendees came from the city’s elite old guard Chinese American community, with roots that went back more than a hundred years and fortunes that made her do a double take.

Cleo beamed. “Valentino,” she said. “I found this amazing vintage couture cocktail dress at a thrift shop, and my aunt did the alterations. It’s yellow chiffon with a woven bodice, open at the sides. I’ll look like a character from Crazy Rich Asians .”

“Sounds perfect. I can’t wait to see it,” Natalie said.

“What about you?” asked Cleo.

“I doubt you’ll mistake me for a crazy rich anything,” Natalie said. “Actually, I could use your help.”

Cleo turned to Bertie. “Fashion consult. It’s an emergency.”

He scanned the shop. Browsing customers, a pair of women having coffee and chatting. “Go,” he said. “Find her something to wear that doesn’t make her look like a schoolmarm.”

“Is that what I look like?” Natalie glanced down at her gray slacks and comfortable flats. “A marm?”

He peered at her over the rims of his reading glasses. “If the sensible crepe-soled shoe fits . . .”

Natalie stuck out her tongue. As they went upstairs, she asked, “What’s a marm, anyway? Does anyone even know?”

“It’s the opposite of how hot you’re going to look once we find something for you to wear.”

Natalie took out her go-to cocktail dress, the fitted black sheath with a boat neck and a slit in the hem, holding it up for Cleo’s approval.

“Boring, sorry. The only way that would work is with Manolos or Jimmy Choos. And a major statement bracelet or arm cuff.”

“Not in my budget, unfortunately. I do have a hair and nail appointment.”

“Come on, this is going to be a once-in-a-lifetime evening. You found a lost treasure and you should look the part. Get in touch with your inner Lara Croft.”

Natalie laughed briefly. “It’s black tie. Not black leather.”

Cleo went through Natalie’s collection of dresses, neatly hung on the back of the bathroom door. Everything was muted and subdued, Natalie observed. Safe choices, not designed to draw attention.

“My clothes are boring,” she admitted. “Shoot. Maybe I’m boring.”

“Bullshit. I forbid you to think that way. Let’s have a look in your mom’s closet,” Cleo suggested.

Natalie winced. “Do we have to?”

“It’s time. You’ve been putting it off, and believe me, I totally get that. I won’t force you, but I do think it would be good for you to get started on . . . you know.”

“Going through her stuff. Throwing things away. Because God knows, I need to feel my heart break again.”

“I’m sorry,” Cleo said.

“I know. And you’re right.” Natalie sucked in a breath, held it around her heart to cushion the blow. “Mom would’ve been so excited by all this.”

“She would have,” said Cleo. “Suppose you find something of hers to wear? That’d be cool, right?”