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To All the Boys I've Loved Before - 48
Romance
Completed
10581
“I mean, I was making one for myself, too. It would have been rude to just bring one sandwich and eat it in front of you.”
Peter accepts the sandwich and eats it with the bottom half still wrapped. “This is good,” he says, nodding. “What kind of mustard is this?”
Pleased, I say, “It’s beer mustard. My dad orders it from some fancy food catalog. My dad’s really into cooking.”
“Aren’t you going to eat yours, too?”
“I’m saving it for later,” I say.
Halfway into the ride, Peter starts weaving in and out of traffic, and he keeps looking at the clock on the dashboard.
“Why are we in such a hurry?” I ask him.
“The Epsteins,” he says, rapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Who are the Epsteins?”
“They’re an old married couple with an antiques store in Charlottesville. Last time, Phil got there five minutes before me and cleared the whole place out. That’s not gonna happen today.”
Impressed, I say, “Wow, I had no idea this business was so cutthroat.”
Like a know-it-all Peter smirks and goes, “Isn’t all business?”
I roll my eyes at the window. Peter’s so Peter.
* * *
We’re at a stoplight when Peter suddenly sits up straight and says, “Oh, shit! The Epsteins!”
I was halfway asleep. My eyes fly open and I yell, “Where? Where?”
“Red SUV! Two cars ahead on the right.” I crane my neck to look. They are a gray-haired couple, maybe in their sixties or seventies. It’s hard to tell from this far away.
As soon as the light turns green, Peter guns it and drives up on the shoulder. I scream out, “Go go go!” and then we’re flying past the Epsteins. My heart is racing out of control, I can’t help but lean my head out the window and scream because it’s such a thrill. My hair whips in the wind and I know it’s going to be a tangled mess, but I couldn’t care less. “Yahhh!” I scream.
“You’re crazy,” Peter says, pulling me back in by the hem of my shirt. He’s looking at me like he did that day I kissed him in the hallway. Like I’m different than he thought.
We pull up to the house and there are already a few cars parked in front. I’m craning my head trying to get a good look. I was expecting a mansion with a wrought iron gate and maybe a gargoyle or two, but this just looks like a normal house. I must look disappointed, because as he puts the car in park, Peter says to me, “Don’t judge an estate sale by the house. I’ve seen all kinds of treasures at regular houses and junk at fancy houses.”
I hop out and bend down to tie my shoelace. “Hurry, Lara Jean! The Epsteins will be here any second!” Peter grabs my hand and we run up the driveway; I am breathing hard trying to keep up with him. His legs are so much longer than mine.
As soon as we are inside, Peter goes right up to a man in a suit and I bend over and try to catch my breath. A few people are milling around looking at the furniture. There’s a long dining room table in the center of the room with china and milk glass and porcelain knickknacks. I go up to it and take a closer look. I like a little white creamer with pink rosebuds but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to touch it and see how much it costs. It could be really expensive.
There’s a big basket with olden-day Christmas memorabilia in it, plastic Santas and Rudolphs and glass ornaments. I’m sifting through it when Peter comes up to me, a huge grin on his face. “Mission accomplished,” he says. He nods at an older couple who are looking at a wooden sideboard. “The Epsteins,” he whispers to me.
“Did you get the chairs?” Mr. Epstein calls out. He’s trying to sound casual and not annoyed, but his hands are on his hips and he’s standing very rigidly.
“You know it,” Peter calls back. “Better luck next time.” To me he says, “Do you see anything cool?”
“Lots of stuff.” I hold up a hot pink reindeer. It’s glass, with an electric blue nose. “This would look great on my vanity. Will you ask the man how much it costs?”
“No, but you can. It’ll be good for you to learn how to negotiate.” Peter grabs my hand and leads me over to the man in the suit. He’s filling out some paperwork on a clipboard. He looks very busy and important. I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be here. I’m thinking I don’t really need this reindeer.
But Peter’s looking at me expectantly, so I clear my throat and say, “Excuse me, sir, but how much is this reindeer?”
“Oh, that’s part of a lot,” he says.
“Oh. Um, I’m sorry but what’s a lot?”
“It means it’s part of a set,” he explains. “You have to buy the whole set of ornaments. Seventy-five dollars. They’re vintage, you see.”
I start to back away. “Thank you anyway,” I say.
Peter pulls me back and gives him a winning smile and says, “Can’t you just throw it in with the chairs? A gift with purchase?”
The man sighs. “I don’t want to separate them.” He turns away to flip through his clipboard.
Peter throws me a look, like You’re the one who wants the reindeer; you should step up. I give him back a look that says I don’t want it that bad, and Peter shakes his head firmly and pushes me toward the man. I say, “Please, sir? I’ll give you ten dollars for it. No one will know they’re missing a reindeer. And look, his paw is a little chipped on the bottom, see?” I hold it up.
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