Romantic Series | Retro

Like many good mysteries, it began in an antique shop

An Accidental Hero #1 : A Romance with One Foot in the Past

The floorboard creaked as I stepped further into the antique store. Why did Verity tell me to meet her here? The smell was old. Musty, laced with incense. Behind me, air swooshed with movement. My erotic mind took over.

I pictured Verity in a heavy flowing gown, which demurely covered her body, pressing a leather-bound book against her bodice before serenely moving somewhere private to consume its contents. Because I was obsessed with her, my imagination supplied that the book held illicit erotic texts which she pored over, became inflamed by its illustrations and sensual stories.

I shook off the daydream but decided to kill my time waiting by seeking out such a book, something to supplement the testosterone-fuelled articles I found in FHM and Playboy. They were no place to find insight into the female perspective. Nothing tender or tentative was implied by the Amazonian creatures with glowing skin and sultry eyes who disported themselves in the glossy magazines currently hidden under my mattress.

The musty fragrance led me to shelves of hardback books, some faded and dog-eared, others tooled leather with gilt decoration or embossed lettering. I moved slowly, tilting my head slightly, attempting to read the titles on their spines. There was a pair without visible nomenclature, which I pulled from the row to read the flyleaf. Through the gap, I saw Verity’s bright eyes watching me.

Verity was a girl who kept herself aloof, unwilling to fit high school’s social compartments: neither brainy nor sporty. Perhaps she was a musician or artist, her long-fingered hands seemed to suggest fluidity of movement and control. I’m captain of the tennis team, usually surrounded by showoffs and try-hards, who are loud and brash. My eyes often strayed longingly to Verity as she sat alone in the cafeteria, or walking home, while my crew drove past in cars paid for by our parents.

Was she moving to her own beat or standing on the opposite side of a divide, wishing she could cross?

“You startled me!” I told her crossly, because I was embarrassed.

Verity said nothing, but came around the stacks and waited for me to join her. I pushed the books back on the shelf; if they were erotica, I daren’t let her see my interest.

“Why are we meeting here?” I asked in a hushed voice.

Being surrounded by retro paraphernalia and antiques somehow made the space feel like a library. She flashed me a smile that showed a neat row of small teeth. She led me between dark tables and armoires, past silverware dulled with tarnish to a glass-fronted cabinet, then gave a ‘ta-da!’ gesture.

I stepped closer. It was filled with jewellery: brooches and earrings, necklaces, and tie pins. I couldn’t see how these would help us with our History assignment, which I was about to say, when Verity pointed at a medal in a box, the colours of its stiff ribbon only slightly darkened with age.

“Let’s research this medal, find out whose it was, what act of bravery earned it, in which battle!”

Her find would give our project a human interest, plus make for a great display. Verity’s green eyes were alight with excitement and a smile quirked her lip.

“It’s a great angle, what made you come here?” I asked.

Already thoughts about our research were fluttering, like moths, in my head.

“This is my uncle’s shop,” she shrugged.

The gesture looked nonchalant, but to someone watching her closely, as I was, Verity’s posture was stiff. Tread carefully, Ben I told myself.

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

It had an old-fashioned frontage, with a faded canvas awning. Being located away from the cafés and smart shops meant it missed the footfall of the town.

“Every day.” She turned. “Look at this,”

She showed me a globe large as a basketball, and old enough that countries like India were coloured pink for the British Empire. If Verity wanted to distract me, I was happy to cooperate.

Curls of red hair brushed against my skin and I smelled traces of flowers and fruit from her shampoo. A surge of heat and my shorts were suddenly constricting, but I couldn’t step away. Charges of excitement short-circuited my brain as I pictured her in the shower, lathering that hair under the drumming water, white suds clinging to her gleaming skin before slithering down long limbs and washing into the plug.

With an effort, I snapped out of my daydream. Verity watched me, irritation pinching two vertical lines between her copper eyebrows. What had she just said? I’ll seem an idiot!

“I’m sorry, I zoned out for a moment, thinking about our project. That medal makes an excellent focal point for our research.”

Her peach lips parted, a small ‘o’ of surprise, but the pink high on her cheeks gave me hope that my praise had hit its mark.

“Please repeat what you just said, I’m interested.”

“I said that although China was never part of the British Empire, it left a significant cultural and political legacy, particularly in Hong Kong.” Her slender finger hovered over the landmass as she spoke.

“Have you ever been?” I asked. I was outclassed by her intellect, a realisation that was both fascinating and uncomfortable.

“No, but my uncle promised to take me on his next buying trip, when school’s out for the summer.”

My only plan for the summer was to swim, play tennis, mess around with the guys, and meet girls. But how I felt in that moment, hot and prickly, excited in a jumpy way that was almost giddy, had me kicking frivolity to the kerb.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, a reminder that I had a tennis match to play, and I felt wrenched away. It was more than wishful thinking, I knew something was sparking between us, and if I left now, I might shut it down.

“Can we pick this up again later today? I’m sorry, I have to run now, but I’m wide open after one?”

An expression flickered across Verity’s face, I’d seen it at school; she looked closed and distant, the ice queen she was often nicknamed. It was a shield, and I lamented that it had gone up because of me.

“Ok,” her shrug was nonchalant. “Come here at 1.30 and bring your laptop, we’ll start researching the medal.”

[To be continued …]

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