“Is this missing a zero?” she asked. He told her no, that was the price. When she said surely they could get more for it, he explained, “The market for Victorian glass is soft right now. It’s selling for half the price it was just eight years ago.”

“Why?” By her logic, eight extra years added that much more to its pedigree as an antique.

“That’s the way things are in this business. There’s no absolute value. It’s mostly perception, and supply and demand.”

Interesting. Very different from dealing in gold and other precious metals.

“So did you get into the antiques business first or did Celeste?”

He smiled. “This was all Celeste’s idea. I’m just along for the ride. But I did get on board quickly to impress her. I guess I did my homework.”

His unabashed affection for her aunt was really very sweet.

“Speaking of Celeste, have you seen her this morning?” he said. Gemma shook her head.

A customer walked in, and Jack moved behind the counter to give her the space to spread her wings. Gemma approached the man perusing a display of candlesticks and cut-glass vases.

“Let me know if I can be any help,” Gemma said.

He turned to her and she recognized him as the guy from the art gallery. He was even more handsome than she remembered, with long eyelashes and flecks of gold in his blue eyes.

“I need a gift for my mother,” he said.

“Great. Um, birthday?”

“No. It’s an apology gift.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, those two candlesticks you’re looking at are both brass. But the one with the wider base is more valuable. It’s from Spain, late 1500s.”

“Do you know the provenance of every piece in this store?” he said, looking at her closely. He seemed amused. Or impressed. She couldn’t decipher his expression except to say it was one of interest.

“Not yet,” she said. “I just started working here. It’s my aunt’s store.”

He smiled and held out his hand. “Connor Harrison,” he said. “I believe we met at my gallery the other day.”

“Gemma Maybrook,” she said. He held her hand just a beat longer than it took to shake.

“I’ll take the Spanish candlesticks,” he said. “And . . . your number?” He grinned in a way that was almost irresistible.

Almost.

“I think we should keep our relationship professional,” she said. “But if you irritate any more of your relatives, you know where to find me.”

Maud could only fit her in first thing in the morning, before she started her day at the restaurant, where Alvie was already doing prep.

“So what seems to be the emergency?” she asked as Celeste settled into her lawn chair, swatting away a bee.