New York City

2012

Dora Harding had not expected to be in her best friend's antique shop that day. After all, she was supposed to be back at the florist's shop, trimming the stems of thorny summer roses and organizing all the colorful tulips, but she needed to come into the store after receiving that text about something incredible she needed to see.

It sounded cryptic, and it concerned her, especially after the trip he had made to London for an antique auction. His store was still struggling, even after a recent boost in sales. She was concerned he bought something that would bring him even more in debt.

"David," she called out, her voice echoing against the faded hardwood floor that groaned with every step. "I'm here!"

But there wasn't any response.

"David!" she said again, this time even louder. "Are you here? I got your text!"

Where was he? It was strange, considering he was constantly in the store, either at the front register, or talking to customers about the historical artifacts he bought at the random auctions he would frequent. Such was his way of life.

"David? Did you run off again?"

She walked toward the section of the shop where there was a plethora of books that had once belonged to people, but now collected dust in a random shop. Dora sometimes would imagine if the books had personalities, and if they did, what stories would they tell?

Dora passed by the rows of antique books that had that familiar, comforting scent. Books that aged with the subtle passing of time. It was the reason she was always happy at home — the scent of old books was something that she grew up with. She stroked the spines of the books and noticed one out of the ordinary. Was it new? It was a book about the artworks of her favorite painter, Sarah Greyson. She opened the book and began thumbing through the pages, stopping when she noticed one of her favorite paintings — one of a young girl sitting on a bench in a bustling park, wearing a dress a riveting shade of red.

"Dora?" A voice pierced through her thoughts.

"David! Where on earth have you been? I called your name so many times."

David stood there, staring at Dora with confusion, but he smiled anyway. "I've been in the back the whole time, Dora. I didn't hear you come in. Wasn't expecting you here until later in the afternoon."

"God, I love the way you say afternoon," Dora said with a smile. "Your accent sounds even heavier now that you've come back from London."

He grinned, shrugging. "Happens when you've been there nearly a month."

"Well, when you sent that mysterious text that I just had to come and see whatever new thing you got," she said.

He nodded, his grin turning into a full smile that reached his eyes. "I didn't mean for you to come here now, but it's wonderful to see you again. It's been a hell of a week."

David's dark blond hair was messy, and his face had a little stubble on it. The bags under his dark green eyes were puffy. She pulled him into a comforting embrace.

"I can tell. You look rough, Dave. Was London kind to you?" She asked, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"London is London. Belgravia, Westminster, Whitechapel, you name it, I was there."

"I so wish I could have gone with you." She crossed her arms, looked out of the window at the myriad of yellow taxi cabs and people walking on the sidewalk in huddled crowds. "I've never even been to London. I'm really jealous of you."

He shrugged. "Well, where I went, you would have died of boredom."

"But antique auctions seem fun," she said. "I'm sure you got something good while you were there."

"You'd be surprised at how cutthroat the competition gets. I couldn't get my hands on that wonderful pressed-flower locket we found online. It was the one thing I wanted the most, but I couldn't win it. Lost it to some guy as rich as Croesus."

"It just wasn't meant to be," Dora said. "There's always a locket somewhere out there."

"Not one like that," he said, sighing as he leaned into the counter where he stored most of the jewelry. "It was supposed to be your birthday gift."

He looked away and for a moment, Dora thought she noticed a glint of something. Was it sadness? He seemed a little different from his normal, cheerful self. Was it the right time to ask him? Was it a good idea? She knew it was a sore subject for him.

"By the way, did you visit her in London?" Dora asked, scratching her neck.

He seemed confused. "Who?"

"Your mother," she said. "It's been a long time since you've seen her. I wish I could have known her. From the way you talk about her, she seemed incredible."

His shoulders slumped. "I had time to visit her grave. It's like time never passed at all. Someone left a beautiful bouquet of her favorite flowers, though. It must have been someone close. They even knew her favorite flowers." He looked away for a moment, wiping his cheek. "I talked to her about you, though, so in a way, I guess she knows about you. It counts."

"You did? What did you tell her?"

He smiled. "How wonderful of a friend you are to me. Don't worry. I didn't tell her about the embarrassing moment when you walked into the cafe where we met." He paused for a moment and looked away. "Your shirt had soot all over it. I think a little of your hair caught on fire too. Smelled like a fireplace, if I remember right," he said with a mischievous gleam in his green eyes.

"I will never use a blowtorch again. Never step into my kitchen again is what the chef told me," she said. "Fired on the spot. I was an absolute mess that day."

"And then Tilly hired you on the spot," he said, winking. He shuffled his feet, then cleared his throat. "I have to ask you a question. Are you absolutely sure your boss is okay with you not working during the June wedding rush?"

"She didn't seem too bothered. She said that she would take care of arranging them but to not forget to come back. I thought it was a little weird, given how frazzled she was all the time. She asked about you, though. Asked how you've been, so I told her you were in London for like three weeks. She laughed and said, 'I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up moving back if he's been gone that long.'"

"Your boss is a strange woman," he said. "Did you really think I would ever want to move back to London?"

Dora shrugged. "You should see her when my dad comes in the shop! It's hilarious. She buzzes around like a bee. I'm afraid she'd sting him if he got too close. It's like she would put the fear of God into him or something, the way she acts."

David's laugh was an octave higher than usual, resonating through the store. "Your dad is rather, uh, special. I don't think he realizes how uncomfortable he makes people."

"My dad is a product of a 1950s, David," she said, laughing. "He barely operates a cell phone. He's still stuck on beepers and pagers!"

David shrugged. "He is a doctor. Don't they still use them?"

"True," Dora said, going back to the book section and picking up the Sarah Greyson book.

"I just got that," he said, smiling as he clasped his hands. "I thought you would like it. Happy early birthday!" His face lit up.

"What?" Dora asked, arching a brow.

"I hid it there, knowing you'd find it. I know you always come to the books first."

"Wow," she said. "This is a fabulous birthday present."

"I know. Come. I want to show you what I texted you about."

"Is it another birthday present?" Dora asked. "David, this is already generous enough."

"Sorry, but this one isn't. Unless you want it as a birthday gift for yourself."

He gestured for her to follow, his eyes lighting up like a child seeing the presents at a sunny dawn on Christmas morning.

"So, what you're about to see, it may seem a little ordinary to the naked eye, but it's quite rare, and an incredible piece of Victorian history."

"Oh, well, you've got me at Victorian," she said. "What is it, though?"

She followed him when he didn't say a thing in response but stopped when he pointed to a cherry-wood writing desk sitting near the center of the store. She held in a breath and stood there in awe of the condition of something so antique such as this. David had put an old globe, and typewriter that was perhaps from the early 1900s on top of it, but the desk itself was one of the most gorgeous things she had ever seen in her twenty-seven years of life.

"Wow," she said, breathless, almost trance-like. "Where did you get this? At the auction?"

He nodded, smiling triumphantly. "I fought hard for this beauty. So I guess it worked out I didn't get the locket we found on the antique estate site."

"Forget the locket! This is beautiful. It looks like it's in mint condition."

"It isn't. It's been with the family for a long time. The original owner ended up dying in 1999. It ended up collecting dust in a storage unit, so they parted with it."

"W-well, how much is it?" she asked. "Like two thousand dollars?"

He laughed. "8,000 dollars. I think it is reasonable."

"Why so much?" Dora asked, her stomach turning at the dollar price.

"It's quite rare. Only ten desks were made. It's a Louand and Straub desk, one of the most expensive then. The desk's superb quality was its downfall. Rare and expensive wood went into the design. It was made far too well for even the most wealthy of Belgravians. The company put so much money into it and on top of the failure of their desk, they liquidated their assets and Louand and Straub was no more."

"You lost me at rare and expensive, Dave," she said, judging him with her shoulder. "8,000 is beyond my budget for three years."

Her heart sunk. There went all of her dreams of buying this beautiful artifact and keeping it in the studio loft of her father's brownstone. She sighed.

"You shouldn't have told me, David. You crushed a broke girl's soul." She rolled her eyes.

"You asked. If it's any consolation, I'd give it to you for free. You know that." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

She set her hand on the desk and the feel of the wood against her fingertips sent fire coursing through her veins. Breathless, she was lightheaded, as if detached from her body. As she allowed herself to close her eyes, the scent, a soft yet gentle fragrance, wafted around her. She could have even sworn she felt a breeze that smelled of roses and the grass, but almost spicy aroma of tulips. Powerless against the waves coming over her, Dora nearly collapsed, but David caught her in time.

God, I need this desk. I've never needed something more in my entire life. I have to have it.

"Dora," he said, an edge of desperation and worry in his tone, "are you all right? Do you need anything? Did you eat anything at all today? You almost fainted."

"How much for the desk again?" She asked.

"More than you make in three months, Dora."

"I want it," she said. "I don't care how much it costs. I need it."

Glancing out of the window, she spotted a young boy with sandy blonde hair peering inside the store. He had a t-shirt on that had 1983 printed across it. When she looked back to see if the boy was still there, he was gone.

"David," Dora said, "did you see that kid looking in the window earlier?"

"What kid?" he asked. "I haven't seen anyone."

"There was just a kid outside. He was looking at the store through the window. I could have sworn I saw a kid."

"Nope," he said. "I didn't notice anyone."

Dora realized after gaining full composure that she must have imagined it. Returning her attention to the desk, she noticed there was an inscription written on it. Was it there before? Why hadn't she noticed it earlier?

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't there earlier, David," she said, pointing to the words written on the desk.

"The markings? Those were already there."

"Wouldn't that decrease the value?" Dora inspected the writing. It looked like French.

Je me noierais dans ta clarté.

"I asked the expert. He said it means 'I would drown in your light'. He mentioned that it's the words of a rather unknown song by Henri Duparc. Chanson Triste."

"Do you know why there's a random French phrase written on it?"

"I don't know, to be honest. I think it was probably a kid who was bored. There's no way for me to know. Only way for me is to communicate with the dead, but clearly can't do that." He shrugged. "You're out of luck there, Dora."

"I like it. The words are random, but it's amazing."

The vibration of her phone in her purse almost made her jump. She took her phone out and her heart stilled when she realized who was calling.

"Hello?" Her heart hammered.

"Where are you? God, I've left you like eight-thousand texts."

"Your boss?" David mouthed the words.

Dora nodded as she gestured for David to hold on. "Tilly," she said. "Is everything okay?"

"You said you were only going to be gone for twenty minutes. Dora, you've been gone for an entire hour. I need you here. I've got clients breathing down my neck. You've got a ton of bridal bouquets to make. Plus, I've got flowers that are dying and I'm losing my mind here. I need your magic touch!"

She sucked in stale air. "Tilly, I'll be right there."

"Dora, please hurry before you send me to the ER. I'm dying here. Drowning in flowers. Save me!"

"She seriously needs my help," Dora said, running a shaking hand through her disheveled, mousy brown hair. "Great. I lost track of time."

"Well, maybe you should go before you lose your job." David pulled her in for a quick hug.

Dora dashed out of the antique shop faster than ever, but in the back of her mind, even when she was running through crowds of tourists and locals alike, she could not stop thinking of that beautiful cherry-wood desk.