The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop

 

Chapter One 

Rosie unlocked the door to The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop after popping out to grab a sandwich for lunch. It was like stepping into the arms of a loved one. Rosie immediately felt her body relax as she breathed in the familiar scent of roses. The smell transported her back to her grandmother’s bedroom. Granny Maeve’s perfume bottle was always on the dressing table and when Rosie was little, she would sneak in and cover herself with the delicious scent. Rosie unwound the scarf from her neck and hung it on the hook in the backroom. She pulled out her sandwich from her pocket and took a bite.

“Hello? Rosemary, are you there?” 

Rosie jumped at the interruption. She hadn’t heard the bell as the front door opened. She placed her cheese and chutney sandwich back on the counter. The voice was familiar. It was Wendy from the charity shop up the road. The old post office had closed down a few years ago and so Wendy had converted the building into a treasure trove filled with household items. Thankfully, Wendy didn’t sell clothes. There was no competition between Ives-On-Sea’s Bits “N” Bobs and Rosie’s Cornish Vintage Dress Shop. 

“Coming!” she called back. Rosie flicked the few crumbs from her jumper and walked towards the voice. Standing in the middle of her shop was the older lady with three black bin bags at her feet.

“There you are. I have to be quick as I’ve turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’. These just came in with a house clearance. I’ll see you soon, bye!”

“Thanks Wendy!” Rosie called after her, but it was too late. The door had already shut behind her. Wendy often dropped off clothes that came in with a house clearance, and in return, Rosie would give her any unexpected household items that appeared in her auction purchases. They supported each other. 

All thoughts of her lunch disappeared as Rosie’s eyes settled on the bags in front of her, each one filled to the brim with strangers’ treasures. She was itching to dive in and look at them. Without pause for thought, Rosie emptied the contents of the first bag onto the floor and gasped. It was beautiful. She ran her fingers over the pile of clothes and sighed in contentment as she picked up a beautiful 1920s beaded dress. It was in exquisite condition, given its age. The blush pink beads sparkled in the overhead light and they let out a soft jingle as they brushed against each other. A handful of them showed signs of wear, but Rosie loved that. It showed that the dress had lived a life. It saddened Rosie to think she would never know the history behind it. Who had worn it? What parties had it been worn to? Rosie forced herself to put the dress back down and return her attention to the other items of clothing. Each piece was special in its own way; the black leather driving gloves to the fur stole. Although Rosie could appreciate the beauty of vintage furs, she refused to sell them in her shop. She would contact her buyer and they would collect them shortly.

After moving the bags of clothes to the storeroom, Rosie picked up the rest of her sandwich and took it onto the shop floor with her, sitting behind the till to eat. Her mind was still thinking about the clothes in the bags. Some items would need altering, others needed mending, and they all needed steaming before she could put them out for sale. Rosie finished her sandwich and took the empty plate back out to the kitchen area. As she walked past the mirror, she caught a glance of herself. She was smiling. Her red curly hair framed her face in a wild mess from the sea breeze, and her freckles were proudly speckled across her face. This Rosie was worlds apart from the woman she was only six months ago, but she was finally feeling happy and confident again. She was free, and there was nobody telling her how she should live her life. Rosie intended to keep it that way. At least she did until her phone bleeped. 

There was a message from her mum asking her how the shop was going and if they could come up in a few weeks. A message from her friend in London saying she missed her and asked when she was coming home from her little quarter-life crisis. Rosie chuckled darkly at the message. Her friends all thought she would soon come running to London. The last message sent a chill down Rosie’s spine as she saw who it was from. It was Oliver. Her hands shook as she opened it. 

I got a letter from my solicitor today. Do you really want me to sign the papers? I’ve bought a little flat. It will always be your home, too. I love you and miss you. Your Oli xxx.

Rosie felt her heart constrict as she read the words over and over. He could be so charming. When Rosie had met Oliver at a University dance, she had thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. They loved each other dearly, and they worked hard to create their perfect life together. Their friends all aspired to relationships like theirs. How silly they had been to think things were perfect. How silly Rosie had been to think everything had been perfect. She stuffed her phone into the drawer underneath the till and forced herself to concentrate on the shop. 

It was early afternoon and she would soon have a few stray tourists peering through the window and wandering into her treasure trove of history. The welcoming warmth of Rosie’s shop drew in lots people, and few left without purchasing a piece of history. The brass bell above the door chimed as a few stragglers walked in. They rubbed their hands, warming themselves up. Rosie watched as they took in the interior; their eyes lit up. The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop was a feast for the senses.

“Good afternoon!” Rosie called, greeting them with a big smile. The two women smiled back at her and wandered over to the display of jewellery that was scattered over the up-cycled sideboard. The jewellery ranged from costume earrings to antique diamond rings, some of which were on loan to the shop, as Rosie couldn’t afford to purchase them. Many of the locals had donated items to help Rosie launch. They knew the shop would benefit their little seaside village and wanted to do everything they could to support it. Their generosity and good nature had overwhelmed Rosie.

Rosie’s heart swelled with pride. She had poured her heart, her soul, and her life savings into this venture. Rosie had spent hours painstakingly deliberating over every inch of the shop. Her past life as an interior designer meant she knew just how to make the shop into the welcoming time capsule that made her heart soar every time she stepped inside. There was the herringbone floor, finished with a walnut stain, which was complimented by the dark wallpaper adorning the walls, covered with floral blooms in muted pinks, blues, yellows, oranges, and whites. It was dramatic – the perfect backdrop to selling snippets of people’s lives. Velvet pink lampshades with tassels hanging from the ceiling flooded the shop with light. Rosie had displayed the vintage clothes, jewellery, shoes, bags, and accessories in several ways. From shelves made of driftwood, an up-cycled antique sideboard, and brass clothes rails. Each allowed the items to take centre stage. The up-cycled furniture had come from a lovely workshop in North Wales. Rosie had bonded with the owner, Alexis, over their love for vintage items. Alexis had helped Rosie find the perfect pieces for both practicality and prettiness.

“How much is this?” The woman dressed in a beautiful fur coat held up a costume brooch in the shape of a flower and scattered with faux pearls. Rosie checked her price list and informed the woman, who immediately decided she had to have it.

As Rosie took the brooch from the woman so she could wrap in some tissue paper, she glanced at the paper tag which was tied to it with a dusky pink ribbon. Each piece in the shop had a note attached detailing as much of its history as possible. Rosie had bought this brooch at an auction in London. There was a little number in the corner showing that there was an accompanying photograph. Rosie pulled out the leather book from below the till. 

“Are you here on holiday?” Rosie made small talk as she flicked through the book, looking for the corresponding photograph. 

“Yes, we are. Cornwall is so beautiful but we hate the crowds in summer, so we prefer coming in the winter. Ives-On-Sea is stunning all year round and the friendly welcome from the villagers makes up for the bitter cold.” Rosie recognised the smile on the woman’s face. It mirrored how she felt about the place she now called home.

“Here it is.” Photograph number eighty was of a young woman, wrapped in a black coat with the brooch pinned to the front of it. Rosie remembered the story behind this piece. She had been lucky enough to meet a family member at the auction. The picture dated back to 1939 and showed the woman waving her husband off to war. The woman’s great-granddaughter had told her that the brooch had been a present from her husband before he left for war. Tragically, he had died and never returned. The poignancy of the photo never failed to bring tears to Rosie’s eyes. 

“What a heartbreaking story,” the woman commented. “Thank you. It means a lot to know the history behind it.” The woman was ecstatic with her purchase and promised to return whenever she was holidaying in the area. 

As the door shut, Rosie wiped a stray tear that was slowly making its way down her cheek. She knew all too well the sadness of losing a husband. The feeling of having your heart torn out and trampled upon. Rosie swallowed hard to stop the memories from overcoming her. All the pain and heartbreak had been worth it. Without it, she wouldn’t be here. Now she had her own little slice of heaven on the Cornish coast.

 

Chapter Two 

“Over here!” The shout came as soon as Rosie stepped foot into the pub. It was Aisha. Owner of The Scrumptious Sweetshop By The Harbour. Rosie waved over to where she sat alongside Chloe, Milo, and Milo’s husband, Craig. She walked over to the bar and ordered herself a large glass of red wine. The story behind the brooch had brought back memories for Rosie, memories she had hoped to never have to confront again. Like the lady whose brooch it was, she had suffered the loss of a husband. However, unlike the poor woman, her husband hadn’t lost his life in battle. Her husband was sleeping with his secretary. A much less heroic exit from her life. 

At twenty-nine, Rosie hadn’t expected to be almost-divorced. Her entire world had come crashing down when she discovered the affair. She had been planning a surprise trip away for their wedding anniversary and so Rosie had grabbed Oliver’s laptop to check his calendar. The last thing she had expected to see were the sordid iMessages between him and his secretary. Growing up, Rosie had always been self-conscious of her looks. Her red curly hair, bright green eyes, and freckles had always made her look different. What had hurt the most about Oliver’s affair was that his secretary was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty. The polar opposite of her. It had shattered Rosie’s confidence, broken her heart, and left her not knowing what to do with her life. She’d packed a bag, told Oliver to put their house on the market, and moved in with her parents. Living in their spare bedroom had only added to Rosie’s heartbreak. The affair had stolen her life, her independence, and her confidence. Although her parents were wonderful, Rosie knew they wanted their space back and their daughter to fly the nest… again. 

“You’ve been staring at that glass for the last five minutes.” Aisha, who had wandered over to see what the delay was, interrupted Rosie from her musings.

“Sorry, just lost in thought.” She sighed and took a big gulp of wine. Rosie wanted to keep drinking, to dull the memories of heartbreak and pain. Oliver’s text had dragged up a multitude of emotions.

“Care to share?” asked Aisha, climbing onto the bar stool beside her. 

“I sold a brooch today and the story behind it got me thinking about husbands.” 

“Ahh.” Aisha knew all about Rosie’s cheating ex-husband. 

“The brooch belonged to a woman whose husband died in war. I was thinking about her sorrow and how heartbroken she must have been. Then it got me thinking about how I lost my husband. Physically, he might still be alive, but I lost the man I married the second he started flirting with his secretary. Sometimes I wonder if I acted too fast, giving up my life in London and moving here. I was grieving in my own way and I made such a huge decision. He was planning a whole new life with her, but that didn’t mean I had to overhaul my life. I could have kept my job, my friends, and my life. Instead, I threw it all away and moved here. Utterly blinded by heartbreak.” 

“He was planning a whole new life with her?” Aisha asked, her brow furrowed. 

“I assume so. Why else would he have thrown away our marriage?”

“Oh, Rosie. It’s all ‘what ifs?’. Maybe he was planning a whole new life with her. Maybe he wasn’t. What matters is you left him. I think you followed your heart to Ives-On-Sea. You’re happy here, aren’t you?” 

Rosie thought about the question for a moment. Was she happy? On the day she married Oliver, she thought she would never feel happiness like it again. Yet, the day she picked up the keys to The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop and stepped inside, she felt that same happiness envelop her. 

“I am. Sometimes it just amazes me that this is my life. It’s nothing like the plans I once had.” After graduating university, Rosie had joined a London based interior design agency. She had enjoyed waltzing around expensive properties in London and telling their owners how they should spend their money and decorate. 

“Rosie, you put too much value on plans. This is life. Let’s be honest, our plans would never have happened. Now, come and join us. It sounds like you need a good laugh tonight.” Aisha picked up Rosie’s glass of wine and led her to the table where their friends were sitting. 

“Rosie’s had a bad day, so she needs cheering up!” Aisha announced as they took their seats. 

“Rosie, dear, your day cannot have been anywhere near as bad as mine.” Milo sighed dramatically. He owned the surf school down at the beach, aptly named The Surf Shack, and often had hilarious stories of holiday makers attempting to learn a new skill. 

“What tales do you have for us today?” asked Rosie. She took another sip of wine and settled into her seat. She’d only been living in Ives-On-Sea for six months and yet she felt she’d always been here. Rosie felt as though she belonged. 

“I had a man turn up in an actual suit! He read the leaflet and took ‘wet suit’ a little too literally.” The table erupted into a fit of laughter. 

Later that evening, Rosie wandered down the hill to her little shop. She paused outside and felt her heart burst with pride. The shop had only been open for a month, but so far it was going wonderfully. When Rosie bought the premises, it surprised her when she discover her budget stretched to the flat above. It was small but cosy and the sea view made up for the dated kitchen. Ives-On-Sea was a pretty beachside village that Rosie had visited as a child with her parents and brother. As she spent her evenings in her parents’ spare room, she had felt a pull towards the quaint village by the sea. 

Closing the door behind her, Rosie threw her jacket over the coat rack and let out a sigh of relief. Sometimes socialising was exhausting. Rosie much preferred being surrounded by clothes and the ghosts of their owners rather than real-life people. Her heart hammered in her chest as she placed her keys on the hall table. Beside the keys sat the letter from the solicitors. All she needed to do was sign it, send it back, and her divorce would be complete once Oliver had done the same. It had been Rosie who had instigated the divorce proceedings. In the light of discovering her husband’s infidelity, the rage had masked the sadness. Eventually, the rage had dampened, leaving her with the raw heartbreak. The future she had once wished for was firmly out of reach. Perhaps it had never really been within her reach. 

With a cup of tea in hand, Rosie went into the bedroom to take off her makeup. She had positioned her vanity table in front of the window so she could look out to sea. It was dark, but she could still see the lighthouse flashing in the distance and hear the gentle crash of waves down below. She enjoyed the few brief moments of tranquillity before taking her phone out of her pocket. With a sigh, Rosie pulled up Oliver’s text. She felt her heart constrict as she re-read the words. After a quick glance at the clock, Rosie gave her mum a call. She needed a distraction from the thoughts and emotions whirling around inside of her. 

“Hello?” Rosie’s mother, Alice, answered on the second ring.  

“Hello, mum. Sorry it’s so late.” Rosie was almost whispering down the phone, scared that if she spoke any louder, her emotions would get the better of her. 

“Rosemary, how lovely. Did you get my text?” 

“I did. Sorry I didn’t reply sooner, but I was at the pub with some friends.” 

“It’s lovely to hear how well you’re settling in. Dad and I will come up soon if that’s okay? I’ll have a look at dates tomorrow and message you. Dad says the bus is due an MOT soon, so he wants to have a quick look at it.” The bus was an extension of The Vintage Dress Shop, allowing Rosie to travel to local markets to sell her clothes. Originally, The Vintage Dress Shop was to be on wheels, until Rosie discovered the shop for sale within her budget. 

“That sounds perfect, mum.” 

“Now, Rosie, tell me what’s wrong.” 

Rosie’s breath caught in her throat. She had thought she was doing a good job of fooling her mother. 

“The divorce papers have arrived and Oliver texted me.” It all came out in a jumble, and it took Rosie’s mother a few seconds to decipher it. 

“Rosie, dear, he’s not worth your tears. Look how well you’ve done for yourself. I know you two were together for a very long time and you loved him. Things will feel strange for a long while, but you’re doing amazingly. We’re so incredibly proud of you, darling. Oliver was a stupid man to have lost you and he’s realised that. Don’t underestimate your worth, Rosie. You don’t need him. You’ve already proven that.” 

“You don’t think I’ve made a mistake moving here? It’s not what I had planned for my life.” 

“Rosie, your eyes lit up the second you stepped inside your shop. I don’t think this was ever in your plans, but I think it was in your dreams. Leaving Oliver allowed you to follow your dreams. Forget those plans you once had.” 

As the words sunk in, Rosie knew her mother was right. But that didn’t stop the pain and the grief for a life she would never have. 

“Thank you, mum. Send me those dates tomorrow. Love you.” 

“Love you, Rosie. Dad sends his love, too.” 

Rosie put the phone down and glanced back out to sea. The darkness was foreboding, and yet there was something magical about it. Rosie had her whole life ahead of her. She could choose her future, not just settle for the one life had dealt her the day she met Oliver Barnett. No, she could do anything she wanted. She already had her shop and could indulge in her love of the past. Oliver had hated her love for old things. Every time she came home from an auction with a new piece, he would roll his eyes and tell her she better put it somewhere out of his sight. Looking back, he had never supported her. 

 

Chapter Three

Rosie strolled along the beachfront with her croissant in hand and the shrill squawks of seagulls flying above her. She knew to shield her food or else the birds would swoop down and take it from her hands. It was a crisp October morning and Rosie was having her breakfast alfresco before opening the shop. Truthfully, she’d drunk a little too much at the pub last night and needed the fresh air to blow away her residual hangover. She wished it would also blow away the memories of Oliver’s text. Before Rosie had even switched the kettle on to make her cup of coffee, she had signed the divorce papers and posted them on her way down to the beach. It was too late now; they were sitting inside the little red postbox waiting to be collected. She had ignored Oliver’s message. After all, he didn’t deserve a reply from her. 

“Morning!” Milo called from the Surf Shack, where he was opening up for the day. Despite the freezing cold temperatures, there was still a demand for winter surfing. 

“Good morning!” replied Rosie, forcing a smile across her face. She glanced out at the cold choppy sea and wondered who would choose to go for a swim in this weather. 

“You look like you carried on drinking last night,” Milo commented, taking in Rosie’s appearance. Despite the concealer, Rosie’s face was still red and puffy from crying herself to sleep. Her outfit was plain, a simple pair of navy waist high trousers and a cropped black jumper. It was very understated compared to the flamboyant outfits she had taken to wearing since opening her shop. Rosie had woken that morning wanting to be invisible. 

“Just the ghost of my almost-ex-husband haunting me last night.” Rosie’s attempts at jesting fell flat. Milo saw right through them. 

“I’m sorry. Would you like to come in for a coffee?” Rosie glanced at her watch. She really wanted to chat to Milo, but she had an appointment for a dress fitting in half an hour and she really ought to get ready for it. 

“Another time?” she called back, pulling apart the last piece of croissant and throwing it onto the sand for the ravenous birds. 

“Sounds good. Have a good day!” With a wave of his hand, Milo returned to the Surf Shack and Rosie climbed the cobbled hill up to The Cornish Vintage Dress Shop. 

Rosie flicked the light switch as she stepped into the shop and smiled as the shop lit up before her eyes. This little haven never failed to put a smile on her face. Rosie switched on the coffee machine and wandered over to the accessories display. Now her mood had lifted, she was regretting the plain outfit. Perched on top of the antique cabinet in the corner was a beautiful hair clip. It had once been a brooch, but someone had since repurposed it into a hair clip. It was a beautiful bronze bee with ruby eyes. Rosie swept back her curls and used the accessory to style her hair into a low bun just as the coffee machine beeped. 

With a strong black coffee in hand, Rosie was feeling ready to welcome the day. She had swept all thoughts of Oliver from her mind, and she was excited about her first appointment. Alongside selling vintage clothes, Rosie offered a dressmaking and tailoring service. Today, a woman was coming in with her sixteen-year-old daughter. The woman had explained to Rosie that she was renewing her vows with her husband. They wanted the ceremony to celebrate the family they had created, which was why she had chosen Rosie to make her daughter’s bridesmaid dress. She wanted the girl to feel special in a dress that suited her style. Rosie couldn’t wait to meet the girl and discover what style would suit her. There was a fizz of excitement in the air as Rosie considered all the possibilities that she could create. Teenagers made for the best clients as they often knew their own minds- at least they thought they did- and so it was a challenge, but made all the more successful when the right style was chosen. 

The grandfather clock behind the counter chimed as the front door to the shop opened and in walked mother and daughter. 

“Hello, lovely to meet you!” Rosie called as she walked around the counter. 

“Rosie, hello. I’m Audrey and this is my daughter, Grace.” The mother proudly pushed her daughter forward to greet Rosie. The girl was wearing a black roll neck jumper and checked black and white cigarette trousers which perfectly cinched in her waist. She had a classic elegance about her that Rosie knew would be fun to work with. 

“Grace, lovely to meet you. Come through to the dressing room and let’s chat about what you would both like. Can I get you a drink?” Both women declined the offer and Rosie led them through to the dressing room. The retro theme continued with 80s pink carpet and walls adorned with shimmering flamingo wallpaper. They took their seats on the pale pink velvet scalloped chairs and Rosie grabbed her notepad. 

“So, Audrey, what are you looking for in a bridesmaid’s dress?” Rosie had learned to always start with the bride. No matter how fussy the teenagers could be, the bride always knew what she did and didn’t want. 

“I’m quite flexible. As long as the dress is a pastel colour and not too revealing, I don’t mind.” Audrey smiled over at her daughter. It was clear she was eager to please her. 

“Okay. Grace, what do you want?” The girl shifted in her seat and glanced towards her mother, who gave her an encouraging look. 

“I don’t want pink and pretty. Mum came to you because I like vintage fashion. The 50s are my favourite.” The girl took a deep breath at the end. She had come alive for those few seconds as she spoke about fashion, but she had since retreated into her shell. 

Rosie pulled out her fabric swatches and flicked through them. As she appraised the girl, a dress was forming in her mind. She had just the idea. 

“What do you think of this colour?” Rosie held up a pale blue swatch of fabric. It was pretty, but reserved.

“That’s beautiful.” Grace gasped. Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the swatch. 

“I’m thinking a 50s style bardot dress, perhaps with a petticoat beneath to accentuate the style?” 

The girl’s eyes lit up as she listened to Rosie and built the dress in her own mind. 

“That sounds perfect. What do you think, mum?” Audrey looked so happy to see her daughter so enthusiastic about the dress. 

“I also think that sounds perfect.” Audrey smiled over towards Rosie, a silent thank you in her eyes. 

“Let me just get some measurements and I’ll order the fabrics in so I can get started straight away.” 

As Rosie said goodbye to Audrey and Grace, she couldn’t help but feel wrapped up in their excitement. There was something so magical about the way a dress could make you feel. The shopping experience could bring people together and the right piece could boost somebody’s confidence. 

The rest of the morning, Rosie sat sketching her plans for the bridesmaid’s dress. She was excited for the fabric to come so she could start cutting and sewing. There was nothing quite like watching a dress materialise in front of your eyes. A few people popped in and out of the shop. Around lunchtime, Rosie’s mum texted her to say they had booked an Air BnB for in a month’s time. As she read the message, Rosie realised how excited she was at the prospect of seeing her parents. They had helped her move her belongings to Ives-On-Sea and settle her in. However, they had only spent a couple of days with her before having to return home to their commitments, and so hadn’t had the chance to see the shop open. After living with them for so long after the break-up, she missed their company. 

Lunchtime soon came around and Rosie turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’. Often, she would make herself a sandwich in the morning, but today she wanted a treat. She meandered along the winding street up to Ives Tearoom, which was nestled in a quaint little cottage just a few doors up from the dress shop. Rosie’s friend Chloe owned it and made the most delicious sandwiches. As Rosie stepped inside, the smell of freshly baked scones hit her. She immediately spotted Chloe behind the counter and walked over. 

“You look awful!” her friend exclaimed. 

“Thanks, Chloe. Your customer service is wonderful today.” Rosie rolled her eyes. Despite having only been friends for a short while, Chloe was one of the best friends she could wish for. She was honest and had Rosie’s best interests at heart. 

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked. She was already making Rosie’s sandwich. Her usual of mature cheese and chutney on freshly made thick granary bread. The cheese was from a local dairy and it was so creamy and delicious that Rosie could sit and just eat a chunk on its own. 

“I had a text from Oliver yesterday.” Rosie pulled her thoughts away from the yummy cheese. 

“The home-wrecking husband?” 

“That’s the one.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rosie thought about it for a moment. This morning she had wanted to talk to Milo about it, but now her mood had lifted and she didn’t want to spare a second thinking about her old life. 

“Not right now. Are you busy tonight?” Rosie asked. 

“I’ve got no plans. Pub?” 

“I’ll see you there after work!” Rosie handed over the money and took her sandwich, wrapped in a brown paper. 

“I’ve put in extra cheese!” Chloe called. Rosie really couldn’t have asked for a better friend. 

As Rosie returned to the shop, she saw someone stood on the doorstep surrounded by suitcases. She squinted to make out the figure. It was a man. He was tall, perhaps almost six feet. His dark hair blew in the sea breeze and the stubble on his face only emphasised his chiselled jaw. Rosie stood still as she continued to take in his appearance. He was very good looking.

“Hello? Do you know when the dress shop will be open again?” His voice was smooth and enticing. Rosie had to stop herself from staring. She shook her head, closed her mouth, and continued the last few steps up to the shop. He was just as handsome up close. 

“Hello?” he asked again. 

“Sorry, you caught me by surprise. I’d just popped out for lunch and am about to open again. Can I help you?” 

“I wanted to donate some items to you.” His answer was short as he gestured to the three suitcases surrounding him. Rosie couldn’t help but notice the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wore a very expensive-looking suit and must have carried all three suitcases on his own. 

“Come in, let me just put this down and I’ll help you with the suitcases.” Rosie gestured to her sandwich, which was still grasped in her hands. 

“I can manage. After you.” 

Rosie stepped into her shop, allowing the stranger to follow her. This man was obviously used to getting his own way and being in charge. 

“Where shall I leave these?” he asked, carrying all three suitcases into the shop in one go. Rosie had to force herself to stop staring again. It wasn’t often she had a handsome man in an expensive suit standing in the middle of her shop. 

“If you could just place them close to the counter and I’ll sort through them. Would you mind telling me a little about the owner? I like to include the history of each piece.” As the words tumbled out of Rosie’s mouth, she felt stupid as she read his facial expression.

“Oh, I haven’t got time for that. They’re a combination of my mother’s, my grandmother’s, and even my great-grandmother’s. I have to go.” He glanced down at the phone that was buzzing in his hand. Rosie felt her cheeks burn at the embarrassment. Of course, he didn’t have time to talk to her about the clothes. It was another of her silly little ways of romanticising life. Hadn’t she already learned that there was nothing remotely romantic about life? 

 

 

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