Page 24

Finishing my coffee, I return the mug and wave goodbye to Tobias as I exit the coffee shop. My insides are nice and toasty, warm from the latte and the new friend I made. Crossing thestreet, I pass bySticky Buns, the bakery that smells sweet enough to give me a cavity just from smelling it, and thenTall Tail Books, which also has its own unique smell of leather and paper. A store for another day. Finally, I make my way toAnother Man’s Junkon the other side of one empty storefront.

The bell overhead jingles and announces my entry when I step through the front door. The store is filled with a plethora of unique furniture laid out to create a pathway around the store. Sturdy wooden shelves hold a plethora of objects. Items ranging from ceramic figurines and dolls to Tiffany lamps and all manner of nick knacks, and to my great pleasure instruments.

“Hello and welcome toAnother Man’s Junk; how can I help you find your treasure today?”

I’m greeted by a middle-aged woman with a large smile and a cardigan made up of crocheted squares with fish and shell patterns. Her chestnut hair is neatly braided and hanging long down her back.

“Hi. I was hoping to find a guitar if you have one.”

“Well, of course, I have a few. Come on back this way, and I’d be glad to show you.”

She waves for me to follow and starts twining her way through the store.

“I don’t recall ever seeing you in town before. Are you new?”

Are strangers in town really that unusual? Do these people all have eidetic memories or something? Next, I expect to hear “I never forget a face” out of someone’s mouth.

“Yes. just got here a few days ago.”

“Well, that’s wonderful. Do you plan on staying long?”

I have a feeling I’m going to repeat myself a few times before the day is over. It seems like every person I meet is going to ask me this. So, I decide to just get all the info out at once and avoid the back-and-forth.

“A few months. I’m renting a cabin from Ginger, or I suppose Hunter, actually. I’m Lottie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lottie. I’m Shanna. I am the owner and know every single item in this store. So, if you need anything, you just ask.”

“Will do. Thank you, Shanna.”

She continues chatting about the things she has in the store that I might be interested in, but my attention isn’t on her words. Shiny objects catch my eye as I pass by displays, but none more interesting than the beauty of a holy grail sitting perched on a stand in the corner.

Surrounded by two other far less interesting guitars, the object of my every musical wet dream stares back at me, and I think I may be dreaming right now because there’s no way one of the most sought-after guitarsin the worldis sitting untouched in a store in the literal middle of nowhere town. Although, that could very well be exactly why it is here.

“Is that . . . a pre-war Martin?”

The words barely escape my mouth, and I am in utter shock and disbelief. I must be hallucinating. Tobias must have slipped something more than just caramel into my latte. If this is what I think it is, this guitar is worth thousands of dollars—at an auction with the right bidders, possibly more.

“You have a good eye. That it is. Nineteen thirty-seven, to be exact. Only ever had one owner.”

My feet carry me towards the Martin and as I get closer, I notice the intricately carved designs on the neck and head that I’ve only ever seen in photos. I wanted to purchase one in the past but just never got the opportunity.

“Can I touch it?” I ask like a child not wanting to get my fingerprints on a freshly cleaned glass window.

“Of course, you can. Take it for a spin. I make sure to keep all my instruments cleaned and tuned so customers can test them out before purchasing.”

The wood is smooth, and the frets are cool to the touch when I pick up the guitar and hold it like a Fabergé egg. There’s a strap attached, and I sling it over my head and let it settle against my hip.

“It’s beautiful, almost in mint condition. Where did you find it?”

“It actually belonged to my father. He bought it brand new. Played it for years but has since moved on to other hobbies and no longer uses it. Is there something special about it?”

An incredulous chuckle rumbles in my chest.

“Oh yeah. Pre-war Martins are extremely rare and sought after for their perfection, for lack of a better word. There were only so many made, and collectors have been hunting for them for years. I’ve always wanted one, but—"

My sentence cuts off short when her words sink into my brain past the fog of wonder.

“Did you say yourdadbought this guitar? Brand new?”