and he’d been right about time only enhancing the details of those fantasies, but the dream world was the realm in which all thoughts of Sean Gallagher were destined to remain.
She pasted a professional, friends-only smile on her face, prayed it was even in the ballpark of looking believable, and turned the corner at the base of the stairs into the main part of the shop…only to have the smile fade and her shoulders involuntarily slump a little when she spied who it was at the door. And who it wasn’t.
She wasn’t ready for this conversation, but she’d known word would get out she was back and she’d have visitors before too long. She’d just hoped that too long would have been a little bit longer before this particular visitor popped up.
She gave a nod to Mrs. Gillespie as she unlocked the door. Arlene Gillespie had worked part-time for her mother for more years than Holly had been alive. She was a tiny wisp of a thing, even smaller than Holly, not the type to indulge in chitchat, though she knew her antiques and could give you, in great detail, the provenance of each piece in the store’s entire and ever-changing inventory without ever having to refer to a single catalog. Holly was certain she’d been a librarian in a former life.
Her expression was much as Holly had always remembered it to be, neither smiling nor frowning, but merely intent. She opened the door and stepped back to invite her in. “Mrs. Gillespie, how nice to see you.” That was another quirk of hers. Everyone, even her peers, had always called her Mrs. Gillespie. It was only because her mother had signed her paychecks that Holly even knew her first name.
“So, you’ve finally come back,” Mrs. Gillespie said without preamble.
Holly closed the door behind her and did her best not to roll her eyes as Mrs. Gillespie unwrapped the long knit scarf that was swallowing her neck whole and unbuttoned her olive green overcoat. She left her hat on, but did take her gloves off. Which meant this was not going to be a brief visit. Lovely.
“How have you been?” Holly asked.
“My bursitis doesn’t appreciate the cold weather, but, otherwise, I can’t complain.” She laid her gloves and handbag on the counter and gave the store a keen once-over before turning back to face Holly. “When will you be re-opening? This close to the holidays, you’ve already forfeited most of your seasonal profits.”
Holly held her gaze, most likely like a deer in headlights. Something about the way Mrs. Gillespie focused on a person made it next to impossible to prevaricate. “I—I’m not sure I will be.” There, she’d said it. Put the words right out there.
Mrs. Gillespie surprised her by nodding. “You never did have a head for this. You’re more the dreamer.”
“Dreamer?” Holly was honestly surprised by the description. Eight years spent surviving in the very cutthroat world of advertising had hardly made a dreamer out of her. She’d always thought her mother was more the dreamer, living in a fantasy world of sleigh bells and Santa Clauses.
“Running off to Europe, head in the clouds, wanting to become a famous painter.” She turned her attention back to the store. “What would you call it?”
“I work in advertising.”
Mrs. Gillespie didn’t seem to give any more credence to that comment than Sean had the night before. Holly continued. “I don’t know what my mother has told you, but painting is not—”
“What keeps food on your table, I’m aware.” She turned back to Holly. “Your mother found a way to make her passion pay for itself. She has a good eye for both whimsy and collectibles, and the business education to know how to turn a profit at it.” She cocked her head slightly and clasped her hands in front of her coat. “What will you do with all she’s built here?”
Holly was at a bit of a loss as to how to respond to that. On the one hand, Mrs. Gillespie didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised that Holly might not attempt to continue on in her mother’s footsteps, and although not entirely easy to read, she wasn’t thinking there was disapproval there, either. “I don’t know yet.” Which was absolute honest truth. She’d spent the day and a half since arriving looking over the books, checking the inventory, the title to the building, which her mother had owned for some time now, and the taxes on the building, all of