Like Many Good Mysteries, It Began in an Antique Shop

An Accidental Hero #1 : A Romance with One Foot in the Past

The floorboard creaked as I stepped further into the antique store. Why did Verity tell me to meet her here? The smell was old. Musty, laced with incense. Behind me, air swooshed with movement. My erotic mind took over.

I pictured Verity in a heavy flowing gown, which demurely covered her body, pressing a leather-bound book against her bodice before serenely moving somewhere private to consume its contents. Because I was obsessed with her, my imagination supplied that the book held illicit erotic texts which she pored over, becoming inflamed by its illustrations and sensual stories.

I shook off the daydream but decided to kill my time waiting by seeking out such a book, something to supplement the testosterone-fuelled articles I found in FHM and Playboy. They were no place to find insight into the female perspective. Nothing tender or tentative was implied by the Amazonian creatures with glowing skin and sultry eyes who disported themselves in the glossy magazines currently hidden under my mattress.

The musty fragrance led me to shelves of hardback books, some faded and dog-eared, others tooled leather with gilt decoration or embossed lettering. I moved slowly, tilting my head slightly, attempting to read the titles on their spines. There was a pair without visible nomenclature, and I pulled them from the row to read the flyleaf. Through the gap, I saw Verity’s bright eyes watching me.

Verity was a girl who kept herself aloof, unwilling to fit high school’s social compartments: neither brainy nor sporty. Perhaps she was a musician or artist, her long-fingered hands seemed to suggest fluidity of movement and control. I’m captain of the tennis team, usually surrounded by showoffs and try-hards, who are loud and brash.

My eyes often strayed longingly to Verity as she sat alone in the cafeteria or walked home while my crew drove past in cars paid for by our parents. I wondered if she was moving to her own beat or standing on the opposite side of a divide, wishing she could cross.

“You startled me!” I spoke crossly, because I was embarrassed.

Verity said nothing, but came around the stacks and waited for me to join her. I pushed the books back on the shelf; if they were erotica, I daren’t let her see my interest.

“Why are we meeting here?” I asked in a hushed voice.

Image by Eric M on Pixabay

Being surrounded by retro paraphernalia and antiques made the space feel like a library. She flashed me a smile that showed a neat row of small teeth. She led the way between dark tables and armoires, passing silverware dulled with tarnish to a glass-fronted cabinet, then gave a ‘ta-da!’ gesture.

I stepped closer. The cabinet was filled with jewelry: brooches and earrings, necklaces, and tie pins. I couldn’t see how these would help us with our History assignment, something I was about to say, when Verity pointed at a medal in a box, the colors of its stiff ribbon only slightly darkened with age.

“Let’s research this medal. We’ll find out whose it was, what act of bravery earned it, and in which battle!”

Her find would add human interest to our project and make for a great display. Verity’s green eyes were alight with excitement, and a smile quirked her lip.

“It’s a great angle, what made you come here?” I asked.

Already thoughts about our research were fluttering, like starlings, in my head.

“This is my uncle’s shop,” she shrugged.

The gesture looked nonchalant, but to someone watching her closely, as I was, Verity’s posture was stiff. Tread carefully, Ben I told myself.

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

It had an old-fashioned frontage, with a faded canvas awning. Its location away from the cafés and smart shops meant it missed the town's footfall.

“Every day.” She turned. “Look at this.”

She’d stopped beside a globe as large as a basketball, and old enough that countries such as India were coloured pink for the British Empire. If Verity wanted to distract me, I was happy to cooperate.

Image by Suju_foto on Pixabay

Curls of her red hair brushed against my skin and I smelled traces of flowers and fruit from her shampoo. Heat surged and my shorts were suddenly constricting, but I couldn’t step away. Charges of excitement short-circuited my brain as I pictured her in the shower, lathering that hair under the drumming water, white suds clinging to her gleaming skin before slithering down long limbs and washing into the plug.

With an effort, I snapped out of my daydream. Verity watched me, irritation pinching two vertical lines between her copper eyebrows. What had she just said? She’ll think I’m an idiot!

“I’m sorry, I zoned out for a moment, I was thinking about our project and how that medal is an excellent focal point for our research.”

Her peach lips parted, a small ‘o’ of surprise, but my praise registered as pink high on her cheeks.

“Please,” I pushed. “Repeat what you just said. I’m interested.”

“I was saying, although China was never part of the British Empire, it left a significant cultural and political legacy, particularly in Hong Kong.” She hovered her slender finger over the landmass as she spoke.

“Have you ever been?” I asked. Her intellect outclassed me, a realization that was both fascinating and uncomfortable.

“No, but my uncle promised to take me on his next buying trip, when school’s out for the summer.”

My plans for the summer were to swim, play tennis, mess around with the guys, and meet girls. But in that moment, feeling hot and prickly, excited in a jumpy way that was almost giddy, had me kicking such frivolity to the kerb.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, a reminder that I had a tennis match to play, and I felt wrenched away. It was more than wishful thinking, I knew something was sparking between me and Verity, but if I left now, I might shut it down.

“Can we pick this up again later today? I’m sorry, I have to run, but I’m wide open after one?”

An expression flickered across Verity’s face. I’d seen it at school; she looked closed and distant, the ice queen she was often nicknamed. It was a shield, and I lamented that she had raised it because of me.

“Ok,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “Come here at 1:30 and bring your laptop. We’ll start researching the medal.”

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If there is enough interest, I will share the whole story, which explores the trials and tragedies of World War I alongside loyalty and romance. Teaser for next episode:

Verity was running her finger down acquisitions listed in her uncle’s cramped penmanship, looking at only those with a star in the column for jewelry/curios. For an illicit moment, I imagined her running that same finger over the contours of my chest and down my stomach.