Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

“Who are you with?” asked Cleo.

“ Prestige Hong Kong .” He handed her a card.

“Cleo Chan,” Cleo said. “I’m a San Francisco playwright, and I’m wearing Valentino. This is Natalie Harper, owner of the Lost and Found Bookshop, and Peter Gallagher, the building designer who found the vase that’s on display over there.” She gestured with a flutter of her hand. The photographer made some notes, then moved off.

“Building designer,” Peach said with a chuckle. “I like it.”

“I figured ‘hammer for hire’ would require too much of an explanation.” Cleo gave them a wink and went to mingle with the glittering crowd.

“Think we’ll show up in Prestige Hong Kong ?” asked Natalie.

“They’d be crazy not to feature us. We’re lookin’ fly.”

“The vase is the star of the show tonight.” She gestured at the lighted museum glass case; the piece was surrounded by more admirers than the governor himself.

Peach helped himself to a glass of champagne from a passing server. “It’s really cool, seeing all the interest.”

“You should have seen my grandfather’s face when they brought him in.” She gestured toward him, now thronged with people.

“Sorry I missed that,” Peach said. “I didn’t mean to be late, but Dorothy’s mother couldn’t take her tonight. I had to get a last-minute sitter.” His tone was edged with annoyance.

Couldn’t take her seemed an odd choice of words, Natalie thought. Take her where? “Oh, I . . . well, I’m glad you and your wife worked it out, anyway.”

He frowned slightly; then his lips quirked into a smile. “She’s not my wife.”

Natalie returned the frown. “Sorry, what?”

“Dorothy’s mom. Not my wife.”

“You’re not married?” Well, that was a common enough situation, she supposed.

“We were. We’re divorced now.”

And just like that, the world shifted. This was new. This was unexpected. This was welcome news. She pretended to be chill about the information. Like it was incidental, no big deal, no surprise.

Deep down, however, a dance party was starting up. Peach Gallagher was single. Single. There was no Mrs. Peach. That meant Natalie wasn’t horrible after all for feeling drawn to him. For wanting to tell him everything, wanting to stay up all night talking to him. “Oh, I see,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. Tough on Dorothy sometimes, but you probably noticed—she’s pretty adaptable.”

“She’s pretty great,” Natalie agreed. “So you and your ex share custody.”

“Fifty-fifty,” he said. “I had to fight like a bearcat to get it that way. Sometimes it’s a juggling act, but I love every minute with my kid.”

“How long has it been? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Couple of years.” He finished his champagne, and they moved closer to the display.

“And it’s, um, you’re okay?” Most of her friends who had gone through a divorce ended up all right—but getting there was often a long and painful process. It was one reason, Natalie supposed, that she’d never been in a hurry to marry. The potential for heartache seemed enormous. So was the potential for happiness, but she’d never been tempted to take the risk.

“I’m good. My ex lives with her boyfriend now. They’re investment bankers—Regina and Regis. Cute, huh? They have a place on Nob Hill, close to Dorothy’s school. It was disconcerting as hell at first, finding out the person you love has checked out of the relationship and didn’t bother telling you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “That must have been hard.”

“I’m over the hard part. Don’t worry about me.” He put his hand on the small of her back and gently pressed her toward the display. “Let’s check this out.”

It was just his hand, she thought. But it was thrilling. And ridiculously liberating to find out at last that the undercurrents she’d sensed between them were not actually forbidden. But there was much she didn’t know about this man. Much she hadn’t let herself know. Realizing he was single might be a game changer. Then again, it might be nothing. She had no idea what he thought of her, or if he thought of her at all, other than as a client.

They joined the group around the vase. The display case and dramatic lighting brought out the intense colors of the porcelain. “It looks so important now,” Natalie said. “It’s hard to imagine it in some context, in someone’s home, before it ended up in our crawl space.” She studied the detailed storyboard outlining the journey of the vase from its merchant family beginnings in China, to San Francisco, to its discovery in the Sunrose Building.

“I’m famous,” Peach said with a chuckle, bending low to whisper in her ear. “See, it says ‘found by a workman during renovation.’”

Natalie tried not to shiver at the feel of his breath on her neck. “They should have mentioned you by name. If not for you, the vase would still be forgotten.”

“Nah, I’m good with being ‘a workman.’”

“You don’t look like one tonight.”

“I’m not working.” Again with the low, intimate whisper. “Although I’m feeling partial to ‘building designer’ these days.” He finished his champagne and helped himself to another glass.

She took a half step away from him, trying to figure out if he was flirting. Trying to figure out if she wanted that from him.

The last panel of the display featured a wonderful photograph of her grandfather and Aisin Tang together at the bookstore, sharing a warm greeting.

“I’m really proud of him. He could have tried to claim ownership of the piece. Could have wiped out the debt and back taxes, then retired in luxury to Ibiza. But he didn’t. He gave it back. I like to think I’d have done the same thing.”

“You would have done the same thing,” Peach told her.

“How do you know?”

“You seem like the type of person who wouldn’t keep something meant for somebody else.”

She looked up at him. His eyes were very, very blue. “I hope you’re right.”

He held her gaze for an extra-long moment. “I’m right. And—”

Another photographer took their picture and asked for their names.

“Flair MacKenzie and Dirk Digler,” Peach said without missing a beat.

Natalie managed to hold her laughter until the photographer moved on. “You’ve already had too much champagne,” she chided him.

“It’s a gala. We’re supposed to be drinking. Come on, let’s find our table.”

They were seated with Cleo, Bertie, and Grandy at their designated table. The others in their group were friends of the Tang family. Natalie guessed, judging by their clothes and jewelry, and the attention they were getting, that they were VIPs. She found it awkward to make small talk with them, but Peach and Bertie took over, keeping up a lively patter.

A parade of servers came through with domed platters of incredible food—handmade Chinese dumplings and dim sum shaped like tiny pomegranates and tangerines, gorgeously presented noodles in every color of the rainbow, and dishes with ingredients Natalie could only guess at. A red tea called Da Hong Pao was served, and one of the people at the table said it was so rare that it couldn’t be bought for any price but had to be received as a gift. Natalie found it earthy and bitter, but the whole meal delighted her, because Grandy was clearly savoring every bite.

The featured speaker was a historian who had been a protégé of Li Xueqin. His talk was mercifully short and surprisingly witty, concluding along with the elaborate dessert service. As the mingling and socializing started up again, Peach leaned over to Natalie and whispered, “Let’s go have a look at the night garden.”