The old wooden floorboards creak beneath our feet despite the heavy rugs. She leads me to what was once a bedroom on the north side, which is now lined with display cases on all walls and one in the center. Dozens and dozens of black and white photographs are framed with little description cards. In the back corner, near the old fireplace, she slides back the glass and takes out an album.
“The original owner of the hotel took these the first year it was open,” she says.
I’m so excited my heart skips a beat as I look through it. Page after page of hotel images are included, along with smiling faces in Edwardian garb. There’s even a clear shot of the lobby taken from the entrance of the front door, showcasing a fountain with a trio of sirens wearing nothing but magnolia flowers, shooting water from their mouths. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“This is a gold mine,” I say.
“Take it,” she says, “if you think it will help.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, as long as you promise to return everything when you’re finished.”
“Absolutely.”
“Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“No. I’d like to look around for a bit, if you don’t mind. Kind of get a feel for the town’s history and character. You have a lot of great stuff here.”
“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” she says, folding her hands and showing herself out.
I spend another two hours flipping through the hotel album and looking at all the photos and antiques in the house. The town has a rich history going back to the 1870s, when it boomed with merchants due to the river and a railroad that ran from Mobile to Montgomery. It was one of the only prosperous areas in this part of Alabama during Reconstruction.
I go back downstairs and find Ms. Cottar on a settee, staring out the window at the passing cars. I clear my throat to get her attention. She stands and meets me in the foyer.
“Is that all you need?” she asks.
“Yes, for now, though I do have a question.” She nods. “Do you know what happened to the contents of the hotel? The furniture, the decor? There’s a beautiful fountain in one of the photos.”
“Well, everything was auctioned off. In fact, we have two of the bedroom suites upstairs, and some of the furniture you see in these sitting rooms is from the ballroom, though they have been reupholstered, of course. So I guess the answer is everywhere. Everyone in town seems to have gotten a piece of the hotel before it was shuttered. Though you mentioned the fountain. I believe Barbara Bonaventure has it at her store.”
“Her store? Where is that?”
“Bonaventure Antiques. Drive north down this very road out of the historic district. It’ll be on your left. It’s in an old church.”
“Thank you. I’ll go there now.”
An antique store in an old church. I should’ve guessed.
MICAH
It’s Friday, and all I can think about is seeing Garrett tonight. My best friend, Sistine, asked me to hang out at Cattywampus Brewing for a girls’ night with our friend Kendall, but since Garrett finally has some free time, I need to take advantage of it. Besides, I can see my girlfriends anytime.
I’ll have to go home and shower after being in this hot-as-Hades store all day, but that’s okay. Garrett usually works late, so I’ll have plenty of time to primp.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” Nana asks as we eat lunch in her office.
“I may drive up to Montgomery.” She knows what this means without me telling her who I’m meeting. She gives me a look but doesn’t say anything, and we finish lunch in silence.
I spend most of the day taking pictures to post on social media next week. Last month, a man drove all the way from New Orleans to buy an old steamer trunk. I seem to have a knack for online marketing, and it’s something I enjoy. I love every piece we have in the store, having handpicked them all myself with Nana, and it’s nice to show them off and help them find new homes to add to their history.
The sun is finally dipping below the tops of the pine trees outside, signaling it’s almost time to close up shop. I’m in the back office with Nana, arguing over the price of a set of lamps, when the bell of the front door jingles.
I pull my cardigan closed and walk out to the floor of the store, which was once the sanctuary of the church, and see a tall, handsome man with wide, light blue eyes looking around the space as if in awe.
“Hi,” I say, navigating the crowded floorspace to where he stands. “Welcome to Bonaventure Antiques.”
“Hello,” he says, finally noticing me as I approach. He smiles, and for a moment we lock eyes in silence. He’s gorgeous—drop dead, take-me-now gorgeous. He’s taller than me, lean, and has broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper curtain hair. His face is chiseled, with high cheekbones and a firm, square jawline. “Is there something I can help you with?” I muster, my voice cracking.
