Eyes Wide Open (The Blackstone Affair 3)

The shop smelled good. Like cinnamon. I would bake at Aunt Marie’s tomorrow and I looked forward to that. I loved to cook, but it lost something when there was nobody to cook for. I felt a sigh coming and suppressed it.

I gravitated toward a section of soft knits. These were obviously a consignment of some sort. Not antiques. Scarf-and-hat combos in so many colors. I pulled out a dark-purple set and fingered the scarf. It felt like cashmere, it was that soft. Probably lamb’s wool, though. I checked the price and raised a brow. But I wanted it. Hell, I needed it on a day like today. I looked at the price again and decided it was okay to splurge on myself. It was Christmas, after all.

Who in the hell are you kidding, foolish woman? You still have nothing for Marie.

I think I was starting to panic a bit. I sighed and kept looking.

I drifted around and found nothing and decided it was time to leave. I stepped up to the counter to pay for my hat and scarf and saw the display of costume jewelry under the glass. Now this caught my eye. It was very pretty stuff, for one thing—vintage bohemian fit Marie’s personality like a leather glove. Score!

One piece stood out clearly to me and it was perfect. A dove pin. Silver with seed pearls on the wing and tail, a black crystal eye and a tiny heart charm dangling from its beak with a blue crystal in the center. A dove symbolized peace, and God knows the world could certainly use some of that. The best part was that I could picture my aunt wearing this pin. I knew she’d love it.

I paid in a rush, almost giddy to have struck gold in my labors of gift-buying angst. Checking my watch, I knew I needed to get going and saw it was a bit of a walk to my Tube station.

It was cold.

Frickin’ frigid.

Cold enough that I pulled on the new hat and wrapped the scarf around my neck right then and there on the street. I checked my face quickly in the window of a parked car, just to make sure there wasn’t something stupid-looking in my appearance—not that I cared too much when it was so freezing.

I walked another couple of blocks until I couldn’t stand the cold another second, and pushed into the first place that had a door with a WE’RE OPEN sign. Fountaine’s Aquarium. I was in a pet store. Or more correctly, a tropical fish shop.

Worked for me. It was warm and quite dim inside, the humidity rising from the tanks making it a pleasant change from where I’d just been. I unwound my scarf and wandered around, stopping by each tank to observe and read the names of the fish.

The saltwater section reminded me of a trip I took to Maui when I was fourteen. I’d gotten to snorkel and see some of the same fish that were in these tanks. I didn’t know it at the time, but that vacation had been the last one I’d take with both of my parents. My mom and dad separated soon afterward, and there would never be another trip for all of us as a family unit. Sad. They had to fight to be civil to each other now. Well, isn’t that the perfect oxymoron . . . “fight to be civil.”

I stopped at one particularly interesting fellow. A lionfish. Lionfish are something else up close, with all their spiky colored fins making them look unreal. This guy seemed curious, and came right up to the glass and fluttered at me as if he wanted to have a conversation. He was cute. I knew they were poisonous to touch, but still captivating to watch. I imagined that a saltwater aquarium was a great deal of work to maintain.

“Hey, handsome,” I whispered to the fish.

“Can I help you with anything?” a young guy asked behind me.

“Just admiring. He’s really a beautiful fish,” I told the store clerk.

“Yeah, he’s been sold, actually. The owner is coming to pick him up today and take him home.”

“Ahhh, well, I hope you’re happy at your new home then, handsome.” I spoke to the fish again: “Hopefully it’s someone who’ll spoil you with treats.”

The clerk agreed with me and chuckled.

I turned away from the tank, deciding it was time to brave the outside cold yet again and head home to my flat. I still needed to wrap Marie’s gift and I had plans to bake tonight—some sugar cookies that I would take over there tomorrow. It was a little tradition we’d started, and it was really fun piping on the frosting and adding sprinkles to decorate them. My favorites were the snowflake ones.

I headed for the door to leave, adjusting my hat and rewrapping my scarf around my neck and halfway up my face, when someone entered the shop. I stepped aside to let him pass and was impressed with what looked like a tall person and a nice coat, but I didn’t look up at him. My eyes were focused on what lay beyond the open door of the shop.

Snowflakes.

It was snowing on Christmas Eve in London!

“It’s snowing?” I muttered in amazement.

“Yeah . . . it is,” he said.

I stepped out into the white and caught the most appealing scent on him as we passed each other. Like some exotic spice mixed with an indulgent mix of soap and cologne. It was nice when a man smelled so good, I thought. Lucky girl, whoever was getting to smell that all the time.

I went up to the window of a black Range Rover HSE parked on the street and checked my hat in the window’s reflection as I’d done before when I’d started out. I didn’t want to look like a dork on my walk home.

The snow had started falling more heavily now, and I could see some flakes beginning to settle on my new purple hat, even just in the reflection in the Rover’s window. I smiled under my scarf as I turned to go.

I was cold on my walk home. Cold . . . but strangely content. Snow for Christmas, for a California girl, all on her own in London at the holidays. Totally unexpected. But I realized something on my way home. The small things in life are sometimes the most precious gifts we are given, and when you recognize them when they arrive, then you are truly blessed.