Nora Roberts - Remember When

"Your feet are swollen? Oh, Jenny-"

"Okay, not yet. But they could be. They probably will be, and it'll be your fault. So let's sit."

She nudged Laine toward a small, heart-backed divan. "I love this piece. I've thought about buying it a dozen times, then remember I have absolutely no place to put it."

"When you love a piece, you find a place."

"So you always say, but your house doesn't look like an antique warehouse."

She ran her fingers over the satiny rose-on-rose stripes of the cushions.

"Still, if it hasn't sold in another week, I'm going to cave."

"It'd look great in the little alcove off your living room."

"It would, but then I'd have to change the curtains, and get a little table."

"Naturally. And a nice little rug."

"Vince is going to kill me." She sighed, plopped her joined hands on the shelf of her belly. "Okay, time for you to unload."

"I've already unpacked the last shipment."

"Emotionally unload. And you knew what I meant."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Start with what pops to the surface first. You've got a lot bobbing around under there, Laine. I know you well enough to see it."

"You still think you know me after everything you've found out in the last couple of days?"

"Yeah, I do. So uncork it. What comes first?"

"Max thinks he's in love with me."

"Really?" It wasn't as easy for her to come to alert as it once had been, but Jenny dug her elbows into the cushions and pushed her heavy body straighter.

"Did you intuit that, or did he say it? Right out say it?"

"Right out said it. You don't believe in love at first sight, do you?"

"Sure I do. It's all chemicals and stuff. There was this whole program on it on PBS. I think it was PBS. Maybe it was The Learning Channel. Anyway." She waved that part aside. "They've done all these studies on attraction and sex and relationships. Mostly, it boils down to chemicals, instincts, pheromones, then building on that. Besides, you know Vince and I met when I was in first grade. I went right home from school and told my mom that I was going to marry Vince Burger. Took us a while to get there. State law's pretty firm about six-year-olds getting hitched. But it sure was the right mix of chemicals from day one."

She never tired of picturing it-gregarious Jenny and slow-talking Vince. And she always saw them with their adult heads on sturdy little kids' bodies.

"You've known each other all your lives."

"That's not the point. Minutes, days, years, sometimes it's just a click, click." Jenny snapped her fingers to emphasize. "Besides, why shouldn't he be in love with you? You're beautiful and smart and sexy. If I were a man I'd be all over you."

"That's... really sweet."

"And you've got this interesting and mysterious past on top of it. How do you feel about him?"

"All sort of loose and itchy and feebleminded."

"You know, I liked him right away."

"Jenny, you liked his ass right away."

"And your point would be?" She snickered, pleased when Laine laughed. "Okay, besides the ass, he's considerate. He bought his mother a gift. He's got that accent going for him, has a sexy job. Henry likes him, and Henry's a very good judge of character."

"That's true. That's very true."

"And he's not hung up with commitment phobia or he wouldn't have used the l word. Added to all that," she said softly, "he's on your side. That came across loud and clear. He's on your side, and that won him top points from the best-pal seats."

"So I should stop worrying."

"Depends. How is he in bed? Gladiator or poet?"

"Hmm." Thinking back, Laine ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "A poetic gladiator."

"Oh God!" With a little shudder, Jenny slumped back. "That's the best. Snap him up, girl."

"I might. I just might. If we manage to get through all this without screwing it up."

She glanced back as her door opened and the bells jingled. "I'll get this.

Sit."

The couple was fortyish, and Laine pegged them as affluent tourists. The woman's jacket was a thin butter-colored suede, and the shoes and bag were Prada. Good jewelry. A nice, square-cut diamond paired with a channel-set wedding band.

The man wore a leather jacket that looked Italian in cut over nicely faded Levis. When he turned to close the door behind him, Laine spotted the Rolex on his wrist.

They were both tanned and fit. Country club, she thought. Golf or tennis every Sunday.

"Good afternoon. Can I help you with anything?"

"We're just poking around," the woman answered with a smile, and a look in her eye that told Laine she didn't want to be guided or pressured.

"Help yourself. Just let me know if you need anything." To give them space, she walked to the counter, opened one of her auction catalogues.

She let their conversation wash over her. Definitely country club types, Laine thought. And made one of her little bets with herself that they'd drop five hundred minimum before heading out again.

If she was wrong, she had to put a dollar in the ginger jar in her office. As she was rarely wrong, the jar didn't see much action.

"Miss?"

Laine glanced over, then waved Jenny back before her friend could heft herself off the divan. She gave the female customer her merchant's smile and wandered over.

"What can you tell me about this piece?"

"Oh, that's a fun piece, isn't it? Chess table, circa 1850. British. It's penwork and ivory-inlaid ebony. Excellent condition."

"It might work in our game room." She looked at her husband. "What do you think?"

"A little steep for a novelty piece."

All right, Laine thought. She was supposed to bargain with the husband while the wife looked around. No problem.

"You'll note the double spiral pedestal. Perfect condition. It's really one of a kind. It came from an estate on Long Island."

"What about this?"

Laine walked over to join his wife. "Late nineteenth century. Mahogany," she said as she ran a fingertip over the edge of the display table. "The top's hinged, the glass beveled." She lifted it gently. "Don't you just love the heart shape?"

"I really do."

Laine noted the signal the wife sent her husband. I want both, it said. Make it work.

She wandered off, and Laine gave Jenny the nod to answer any questions she might have over the collection of wineglasses she was eyeing.

She spent the next fifteen minutes letting the husband think he was cutting her price to the bone. She made the sale, he felt accomplished and the wife got the pieces she wanted.

Everybody wins, Laine thought as she wrote up the sale.

"Wait! Michael, look what I found." The woman hurried to the counter, flushed and laughing. "My sister loves this sort of thing. The sillier the better."

She held up a ceramic black-and-white dog. "There's no price."

Laine stared at it, the practiced smile still curving her lips while her pulse pounded in her ears. Casually, very casually, she reached out and took the statue. An icy finger pressed at the base of her spine.

"Silly's the word. I'm so sorry." Her voice sounded perfectly natural, with just a hint of laughter in it. "This isn't for sale. It's not part of the stock."

"But it was on the shelf, right back there."

"It belongs to a friend of mine. He must have set it down without thinking. I had no idea it was there." Before the woman could object, Laine set it on the shelf under the counter, out of sight. "I'm sure we can find something along the same lines that will suit your sister. And if we do, it's half off for the disappointment factor."

The half off stilled any protests. "Well, there was a cat figure. Siamese cat.

More elegant than the dog, but still kitschy enough for Susan. I'll go take another look at it."

"Go right ahead. Now, Mr. Wainwright, where would you like your pieces shipped?"