Before he had traveled here, he had been firm in his decision that he would marry a princess or maybe a duchess—someone who knew what it meant to have your life determined for you. To have to bend to expectations all of the time.

  Now he wasn’t so sure anymore. His heart called for something different, for togetherness. And for sudden, surprising surrender to a feeling that seemed all too real.

  But feelings faded and reality kicked in, hard. He didn’t want to sweep her off her feet into his royal dream only to have her discover it was a nightmare. To have her run away from him, leaving him heartbroken. It wasn’t that he cared what his people would think if she left or what the press might write. He only knew that it would hurt, badly. Because it already hurt to let her go, to return to normality and forget about their intoxicating dance.

  Chapter Six

  Lizzie piled the blue flowers into the back of the car. Her cheeks burned as if they were on fire and everything inside of her jittered. She needed his arm around her to steady her.

  Or not? Wasn’t it his touch that had caused all of this?

  And he probably hadn’t meant anything special by it. He had only invited her to dance with a mock bow, a light playful moment, nothing meaningful or real.

  But why did it feel like it was the most meaningful thing that had ever happened to her? To be close to someone she had just met and feel so secure, so special? And at the same time so out of her depth, so lost and uncertain, and aching to run away? Because it was too much too soon.

  Shape up. You’re not a teen anymore, swooning over a handsome guy. He’s a customer. Keep that in mind.

  It doesn’t matter that he crossed the line by inviting you to dance in the first place. You have an obligation to be professional. Now be businesslike and cool.

  Her phone beeped and she pulled it out and checked the screen. One of her antiques contacts. “Yes, Mr. Reeves, hello.”

  His creaking voice came over the line. “I’ve heard you’re looking for a singing bird that pops out of a box. I may be able to help you. Can you come down to my warehouse?”

  “Have you got the bird of paradise?” she asked, a ripple of excitement shooting through her stomach. It died in the same instant. If Nicolas found what he was looking for so soon, would he leave?

  Their Fourth of July festivities were none of his business, really. He had merely offered to lend a hand because he was waiting for news. “We’re on our way,” she said.

  Nicolas gave her an expectant look. “Did I hear you mention the bird of paradise?”

  “That was Mr. Reeves. I’ve done business with him before. He has a huge warehouse outside of Harker. He asked me to come over. He thinks he may have it.”

  Nicolas frowned. “Shouldn’t you have asked him to snap some pictures with his phone and send them to you?”

  Lizzie laughed. “Mr. Reeves is almost seventy. He doesn’t have a sophisticated phone that can take pictures. He’s not online either. He has enough customers who find him without the internet, because of the reputation he built. It’s not far.”

  “And a nice day for a drive, right?” He gave her a wink.

  Her stomach was full of butterflies again. “Definitely.”

  They got into the car and he drove, following her directions. The sun shone brightly, sparkling on the leaves of the trees and the grass, etching everything with an intensity she had never seen before. Or was it because Nicolas was by her side and she could watch his lean hands on the wheel, breathe his aftershave as he moved, and listen to the timbre of his voice as he talked?

  She wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. Her head was full of thoughts and feelings. Especially feelings.

  “Did you also have a sandwich when you brought me some?” He glanced at her with a worried expression. “If you didn’t, you must be running on empty. It’s past lunchtime now.”

  She wanted to deny it, but she hadn’t had anything since breakfast.

  “Look.” He gestured to a stand by the road advertising fresh waffles. “How about a waffle?”

  He had already hit the brakes and steered the car onto the side of the road. As soon as Lizzie opened the door, an inviting scent of baking waffles and sugar rose into her nose. Her stomach growled.

  “You sit there,” he pointed at some white plastic chairs beside a rickety table with a checkered cloth, “and I will order some. What topping do you want? Ice cream?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Which flavor?”

  “Chocolate. Or strawberry. Or banana. I eat any kind of ice cream, really. Only thing I don’t like is plain vanilla.”

  “Okay.” He walked over to the baker and said something. They both laughed.

  Lizzie lowered herself onto the chair, which shifted under her weight. If she wasn’t careful, it would tip over and she’d land in the grass.

  Nicolas pulled out his wallet and handed the man a bill. He seemed to wave off the change. He looked in her direction. The moment their eyes met, it was as if the chair wobbled again. But it wasn’t the chair, it was his smile rocking her world. To see him smile at her across the distance, with confidence and trust, like couples did. Hey, there you are, I’m here, hello. That reassurance, to know you weren’t alone in the world.

  But he was just being nice to her as she was on a quest for his bird of paradise. She still knew so little about it. How old it was, how it had ended up in his family. And what the song was?

  He came back to her carrying two paper plates of waffles and ice cream, topped with piles of whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, and mini marshmallows. He put them down carefully and exhaled. “Done. I chose two kinds of ice cream for you. Tiramisu and raspberry meringue.”

  “I had no idea they had such fancy flavors here. Are you having some too? I thought you said you didn’t like sweet things.”

  “I make an exception for ice cream.” He smiled at her. “Besides, eating together is much nicer than eating alone, right?”

  So he’s actually digging into all this sweet stuff for me? Lizzie dipped her spoon into the brown ice cream and tasted it. “This is delicious. Almost like real tiramisu.” She dug into the white ice cream with the red swirls. “This is great, too. Thanks so much.”

  “I have to thank you. For looking for my bird of paradise. And for giving me such a wonderful time.”

  He looked at her as he said those latter words, slowly, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away. “Wood Creek is really pretty,” she said. Hmm. That sounds a bit lame. I can do better.

  “It’s the company that makes it all worthwhile.”

  She forgot to lower her spoon back to the ice cream. When he smiled at her like that, she could almost believe he was… What?

  Falling for her?

  Like she was falling for him?

  Absolutely not.

  He was a customer and he was a tourist, here for a short while. Forming any sort of attachment to him was stupid, a recipe for heartbreak. So he was good-looking and maybe she was attracted to him, but that was only natural. Hormones, biology. She need not give in to it. She could keep her head cool and tell herself it wasn’t meant to be.

  “Tell me more about the bird of paradise,” she said. “I don’t want to meet Mr. Reeves and look silly not knowing a thing about it.”

  “What is there to tell? It’s old, seventeenth century. Made by a craftsman who knew what he was doing. He had a big vision for mechanical works. He created a lot of sketches, some for cabinets that had secret compartments where birds could appear to sing for guests. Some projects were too ambitious, and he never got around to them. He died when he was just forty-three. Pneumonia.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But the sketches are still there? Maybe in a museum?”

  “Yes. Belfort has an automaton museum. I opened it.”

  …

  Nicolas could have bitten off his tongue as soon as he had said it. Now she would be super surprised. He hurried to add, “I know a bit about automatons from my grandfather, so I was asked to come and cut the ribbon. It was a small event really.”

  Lizzie studied him as if she didn’t quite believe him. “And your family owns such a thing? A precious mechanical piece from the seventeenth century?”

  “Well, don’t most people have something special in their family, handed down through the generations? Maybe a clock, or a china set, or a lamp, or whatever? We had the bird of paradise.”

  “And then your grandfather…gave it away?”

  “Yes. He should have discussed it. His parents weren’t happy.”

  “Couldn’t he have asked to have it back?”

  “The person he’d given it to had already left the country. You have to keep in mind that this happened in the sixties. Not everyone had a telephone. There was no email or message services. If someone went abroad, you could send letters, but they took weeks to arrive. Communication was a lot harder.”

  “So he sort of lost touch with the person he had given it to and then he couldn’t get it back?”

  “Exactly. And it remained a point of dissension in the family. Every now and then someone will mention it and… Even as a child, I was intrigued by the mystery of the bird of paradise. The idea that I might now finally solve it…” He toasted her with a spoonful of ice cream. “Thanks to you.”

  “Wait until we get there. Mr. Reeves might be mistaken and it’s something else.”

  He was relieved that she didn’t push the point about the person the bird had vanished with. He didn’t really want to explain it to her. He had a feeling she wouldn’t understand.

  Did he even understand it himself? Now that he was actually here, having met an intriguing woman who…

  She was different from anyone I had ever met, Grandpa had said to him during a rare conversation about the matter. I fell in love before I knew it. And I would have married her, had the council allowed. But they had a long list of objections to her. And I listened to them. I was worried the marriage would be a mistake and they would forever point this out to me. I was also worried I’d make her unhappy. That would have been worse.

  Nicolas hadn’t understood how his grandfather could have lost his heart to someone who wasn’t suitable. He had known that from the start, right? He should have been more guarded, more careful. Not let her get too close. He had imagined the woman in question had worked her way into his grandfather’s confidence. That she had been a gold digger, nothing more.

  But now as he sat here, opposite Lizzie, watching her enjoying her ice cream and waffles, he wasn’t too sure anymore. The moment he had met her he had known she wasn’t the type of woman he should be looking for. Not royal born, not titled in any way, a simple American girl living a small-town life. Someone he could appreciate, of course, in a professional way, but not become friends with and certainly not fall in love with.

  Before he had met her, he had been so sure it would never happen to him. Fall head over heels in love? Why? Feelings were unreliable and only caused trouble. You had to keep your head and think things through. That always worked.

  It had always worked for him.

  Until now.

  Until he was sitting here with the breeze on his face and the scent of sugar in the air and he wanted to lean over and brush the hair away from her cheek, stare into her eyes, lean even closer and…taste the tiramisu ice cream on her lips.

  But it wasn’t going to happen. His thoughts were his own, to cherish or censure. She would never know. He’d never let on how he felt, what he thought.

  Lizzie leaned back with a satisfied smile. “That was delicious.”

  There was a bit of whipped cream on the tip of her nose. He gestured across his own to alert her to it. She flushed as she rubbed it off. He grinned. “It looks very cute. But since we’re going to meet this Mr. Reeves…”

  “Yes, I should look my best.”

  “Is it hard to be a woman in this business? I mean, is it very male dominated? Do they take you seriously?”

  “Not at first. They thought I was another girl with an interest in knickknacks, having been to a few garage sales and calling myself an antiques dealer. I understood their point of view. I mean, it’s a serious business and you need a ton of knowledge to actually sell people good pieces. So I kept learning, to ensure that I knew everything that I could. And it worked. They now respect me. At least, I think they do.”

  A shadow crossed her features and he reached for her hand on the table. He covered it with his. “They should respect you. You do a great job.”

  “You don’t know yet. I haven’t found your bird.”

  No, and actually he hoped that she wouldn’t find it for some time. So that he had an excuse to stay around Wood Creek, to spend more time in her company, look into her eyes, hear her laughter.

  He pulled his hand away and got to his feet. “We’d better get going again.”

  …

  Lizzie rose, too, and swiped back her hair. The moment he had put his hand on hers and told her she was great, her heartbeat had shot up. It still pounded behind her breastbone.

  But he hadn’t said she was great, merely that she was doing a great job. It was all professional, strictly business. Completely harmless.

  She pulled back her shoulders as she walked to the car. She had to focus on meeting Mr. Reeves, on answering his questions and assessing what he had to offer. She had looked online to learn a bit more about bird boxes like the one Nicolas was looking for, and she had read that there were a lot of forgeries in circulation, even with markings that seemed original. She had to be on guard so that he wouldn’t get duped. He was with her in person; he could make his own assessment, but she wanted to support him, to remove any doubt if he had some, or raise doubts if she felt she had reason to do so. Hopefully she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in the process…

  Oh, there’s nothing wrong with my knowledge of antiques, she acknowledged with a sigh. But I’m making a fool of myself already, with my schoolgirl adoration of him. I must be staring at him with huge doe eyes. I must shape up and act like I’m not interested.

  She wanted to try. She really meant to. But as soon as she looked at him, her plans went up in smoke. He was simply amazing. And she only had a short while to enjoy his company. Why ruin it with all these thoughts and considerations? Why not enjoy it while it lasted?

  Be wild and irresponsible for once.

  …

  The warehouse Lizzie directed him to was a wooden farmhouse with huge barns beside it. They got out of the car and were met by an old dog coming for them at a slow trot and barking without conviction. The animal was called back by a wiry man with a straw hat, carrying a rake in his hand. The dirt on his pants and fingers suggested he was working in the garden. “The strawberries are going to do well this year, Lizzie,” he said, shaking her hand. “Ah, you brought company.”

  “This is the customer interested in the bird of paradise,” she said.

  The older man shook his hand. “Reeves.”

  “Call me Nicolas.” He smiled. “You have a beautiful farm here.”

  “I sold off the land years ago and I only kept the house and the barns. Great for the antiques.”

  “Isn’t this a bit of a remote place to store precious items?” Nicolas glanced around him.

  Reeves gave him a suspicious look. “I want you to know, young man, that I have state-of-the-art security here. Cameras and a system that gives a signal to the police the moment an unauthorized person tries to get inside.”

  Nicolas glanced at Lizzie, who seemed to be fighting a smile. “Good for you,” he said.

  Mr. Reeves turned away and waved with his rake for them to follow him.

  Nicolas whispered to Lizzie, “If he doesn’t have a modern phone, I doubt he has this security system he mentioned.”

  “He does have security. His son set it up for him.”

  “I see.”

  They reached the left-hand barn and Reeves took them inside. The space was full, top to bottom, with stacks of things. Sideboards, tables and chairs, mirrors, deer antlers, hope chests, headboards, rocking horses.

  Now I understand. If a burglar ever set foot inside, he’d flee screaming at the sight of this chaos.

  Reeves didn’t seem bothered by the overwhelming number of things on display. He made his way, with assurance, to the left corner. “Here it is.” He leaned down, his back creaking audibly, and opened a cabinet door. The shelves inside were filled with tin beakers, clocks, radios, vases, and crystal glasses.

  Reeves leaned down farther and pulled a few things aside to make room. Then he lifted out a box.

  Nicolas held his breath. Would he, for the first time in his life, see the decorations that he only knew from photos? Would he see the bird and hear the song, the notes he had danced to with Lizzie?

  He glanced at her beside him. The same eager tension was in her eyes, the lines around her mouth. That she cared so much touched him deeply.

  But maybe it was just a professional thing, her wanting to meet his request, to build her reputation further. It wasn’t necessarily personal.

  Reeves held out his hands. “This is it.”

  Disappointment slashed through him. It was a beautiful black box, but the decorations were wrong. They should be birds, and these were carved roses with a bit of gold paint. And when the beaming antiques dealer pressed a button, the lid popped open to show a bird inside, sitting in a nest of delicate filigree work, singing a simple, blackbird-like tune.

 

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