Page 2 of The Unbound Bookshop
“Let’s start the bidding at a mere fifty dollars.”
“Fifty dollars?” Sage hissed. “For one sugar bowl?”
Abby raised her paddle.
“We have fifty. Do we have sixty?”
Abby held her breath as Herman scanned the multipurpose town hall turned temporary auction house. Since Herman only held these events biannually, there wasn’t an empty seat to be found. Somewhere, in the shoulder-to-shoulder throng, another paddle shot into the air.
“We have sixty,” Herman recounted. “Do we have seventy?”
Abby lifted her paddle, her pulse pounding in her ears.
The same bidder countered, but her contender remained hidden behind a trio of women wearing enormous floral-rimmed sun hats.
She sat a little straighter, reaching her hand higher in the air, as if elevation would somehow grant her an advantage. No such luck. Her opponent pounced before she’d even had a chance to lower her arm.
For the next several minutes, they played an unrelenting round of ping-pong, lobbing bids back and forth until the price rocketed to $150. At this rate, she’d blow through her entire budget in mere seconds.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Abby confessed in a hoarse whisper. “I brought two hundred, but hadn’t expected to pay anything close to that amount.” She slid the bills from her back pocket, splaying them between her fingers to see if they’d miraculously multiplied.
“Two hundred for a sugar bowl?” Sage matched her hushed tone. “Are you sure you need it that badly?”
Abby swallowed against the uncomfortable dryness in her throat. Did sheneedit? Not exactly. But from the moment she’d opened her boutique inn a few months ago, she’d longed to complete the set. And now that she’d booked her first bigwig guest at Blessings on State Street, she had even more motivation.
Sadie Hamilton—the fiancée of billionaire philanthropist Landon Morris—had reserved her brand-new Blessings & Blooms package for herself and her maid of honor. The friend also happened to be famous, and her lifestyle YouTube channel, Grow with Lucy Gardener, had recently received praise on a national talk show.
Upon checking in later that week, the two women would enjoy four days of pampering, relaxation, and luxury, starting with a traditional afternoon tea. Abby had her heart set on using her vintage Spode tea set but couldn’t bring herself to substitute a mismatched sugar bowl. Not when Lucy Gardener would be filming every infinitesimal detail of their stay.
After a career ghostwriting cookbooks, making other people’s visions come to life, the inn was the first endeavor to bear her own name. The first undertaking that represented her own accomplishments, her own dreams. She had to get it right.
Of course, there was always a slim chance she’d chosen to fixate on an external goal like buying the sugar bowl to avoid processing her conflicted emotions about Max, but that was an issue for another day.
Before she knew what she was doing, she heard herself say, “Two hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred dollars,” Herman repeated with an expression of equal parts surprise and delight splashed across his sharp, angular features.
A collective hush settled around the room, except for the squeak of folding chairs as everyone turned to glance in her direction.
Heat swept up her neck. What had she done? She had no business spending a small fortune on something so frivolous. Max outgrew his clothes every other day, and even with the stipend she received from the state as a foster mom, raising a rapidly growing boy cost more than she’d ever imagined. Plus, what would Logan think?
Her blush deepened. They’d only been dating a few months, but she already factored her beau/business partner into most areas of her life. Between running the inn and raising Max, they made the majority of their decisions together. Would he understand her impulsive purchase?
With every muscle now knotted and tense, Abby craned her neck to see around the row of derby hat-adorned women who’d thankfully shifted in their seats to gawk at her.
Her breath hitched the second she glimpsed her competition. Archie Higgins, the octogenarian owner of the local grocery store, clumsily tapped a cell phone screen—a cell phone he clearly didn’t know how to use.
What on earth did a widower who considered heavy-duty paper plates fancy dinnerware want with an antique sugar bowl?
To her horror, Archie set down the phone and raised his paddle.
“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” Herman remarked with unbridled glee. “The current bid is $210. Do I hear two-twenty?” He twisted the end of his petite handlebar mustache, gazing at her expectantly.
Her heart stopped. Archie had outbid her. For a sugar bowl. It didn’t make sense.
For a millisecond, her thoughts flickered to the money sitting in the bank—the money she hadn’t touched since her husband, Donnie, died over a year ago. Maybe she could ask Sage for a short-term loan and—No. She gave a sharp shake of her head, dismissing the unconscionable idea. She couldn’t use that money. Not even for this.
With painful resignation, she set the paddle in her lap, admitting defeat.
