Starry-Eyed Love (Spark House)

I leave Jackson standing at the edge of the room and flit around, taking inventory of all the items up for sale. There are so many treasures. Although most of it is far too expensive to even consider purchasing. But there’s a set of teacups with missing saucers that would be perfect for a Tea Social we’re hosting later in the summer.

I move through the rooms, Jackson at my side, chuckling quietly when I get excited over something I find particularly interesting. I’m nattering on about all the fun things I can make and how I need to come up with something fall-themed for my Etsy store when I realize we’ve ended up in one of the bedrooms.

“This is like something right out of a fairy tale,” I murmur, coming to a stop in the center of the room, under the chandelier. It’s made of pink teardrop crystals that refract a million rainbows when the sun shines through a gap in the curtains. The bed is a four-poster king-size masterpiece draped with white gauzy fabric. The comforter is a pale icy blue, the ceiling a darker shade of the same color, like a midnight sky speckled with the Milky Way. The floors are white marble threaded through with gold. Everything about this room screams fantasy.

I cross over to the bed and find the gap in the curtains, running my fingertips gently over the satin sheets, touching rainbows as I go. “When I was a little girl, I wanted to be Cinderella so badly.”

“You wanted an evil stepmother and glass slippers?” Jackson asks with a hint of teasing in his tone.

I chuckle. “Not that part. It was the magic of it all, the fairy godmother, the transformation from ordinary to extraordinary.”

“There’s nothing ordinary about you, London.”

“Quirky and extraordinary aren’t the same thing.” I skim the curtains and round the end of the bed. “Once, our class went to a radio station for some kind of field trip. It was around the holidays, and I think I was maybe six or seven. My teacher’s name was Ms. Barrie. She was lovely. Anyway, I had this friend named Candy. She was adorable. All blond curls and blue eyes with this name that fit the holidays, and I was standing beside her when they asked her name, so when they asked me mine, I lied and told them it was Cinderella.”

Jackson laughs. “Why did you lie? London is a beautiful name.”

“Not when you’re a kid. I see London, I see France, I see London’s underpants was very popular and annoying when I was growing up.”

“Ah yes, I can see that.”

“Anyway, Candy outed me and I was mortified. But that year for Christmas, all my presents were Cinderella-themed.”

“It sounds like a good Christmas.”

“It was. One of the best, really.” My parents had found the whole thing hilarious. And despite my embarrassment and how irritated I’d been that my supposed friend had tattled on me on live radio, I grew to love that memory, and the memory of that Christmas, which was distinctly tinged in a Disneyesque light. They’d even gone as far as finding a Cinderella-style dress and my mom gave me a Cinderella makeover. It didn’t matter that my hair wasn’t the right shade of blond—that was Harley, and she always kept it cropped in a short bob, much to my dismay.

I’m pulled out of my mental musings when my phone buzzes in my purse. It must be hitting something metal or plastic because it’s loud and jarring. I rummage around and manage to find it at the bottom of my bag, but it’s already gone to voicemail by the time I check the screen. I’ve missed several messages from Avery and now a phone call. It’s already quarter to twelve.

“That’s my sister. I’ll need to call her back.”

“Of course, I’ll give you a minute.”

Jackson leaves me alone in the bedroom while I dial Avery.

“Why are you in Woodland Park?”

“I’m at an estate sale.”

“When are you going to be here? We have an event to set up for, and we’re three centerpieces short, and no one can find the linens for the tables! The guests are supposed to start arriving at four-thirty, and the dining room isn’t even close to ready!”

Avery isn’t usually one to panic, even when we’re on a tight timeline. “I’m heading back now. The linens should be in the laundry room. I wanted to freshen them up because it had been a few weeks since we used those ones. They’re all pressed and laid out on the table. You’ll want the silver and black napkins, alternating. Those are already prepped in the baskets next to the linens.”

“A freaking email or a note with all of this information would have been awesome, London. And maybe a little warning that you were taking the morning off to go to an estate sale. Especially on an event day. Harley is almost in tears.”