Page 15 of A Hutch for Hoover (Omegas of Animals #15)

Hoover

Can you bring the van home tonight? I need to deliver some inventory. I shot a quick text to my mate.

One of the contacts I made at the community event had messaged me, wanting me to set up an entire display of my work. I was excited for it.

My shift at the thrift store was nearly over, but there was still a huge box to unpack before I could leave.

I put my phone in my back pocket, and removed the items one at a time, sorting what was for sale, what was junk, what could be used for one of my pieces, and what needed to be put in our online store.

I’d gotten quite adept, my boss thrilled with the increase in profits he was seeing. He even gave me a really nice raise.

Today, there were a couple of quilts, one hand sewn and really unique and old. I set it aside for pricing later and put the other two at our standard quilt prices for their sizes.

I went back to my treasure hunt, which was what I thought of digging through each box and pallet we received.

This one was an odd mix of items. Board games, the homemade quilts, a piece of carnival glass, a sterling salt shaker with no pepper one to match, and a pair of what had probably been a really expensive pair of shoes before they scuffed them to the hills and back again. Those I tossed.

On and on it went, with random items that had no reason to go together and somehow did, a few catching my eye as special, and most all of it worth pricing.

The one severely damaged item? A book that had obviously been in water at some point, the pages all warped and stuck together.

It hadn’t been a super sought-after book to begin with.

It was some sort of self-help for gardening, which explained the moisture, I supposed.

But, for whatever reason, it held enough value for the previous owner that they hadn’t been ready to throw it away.

I had everything marked and put out, including the quilt, which was from a well-known quilt maker based on my searches.

I marked it on the lower side of their current going prices, and someone was looking at it before I even had it completely on display.

I didn’t know if it ended up being purchased, though—I was in a hurry to get home, my mate letting me know he was not only bringing the van but that he’d be back soon.

I was home before he was, opening my laptop to check any online sales and pulling the items that did sell from the pile I planned to bring to the store and delisting the others that were coming with me.

I had quite an impressive lot to bring. I wasn’t sure if this was going to be the perfect place for the type of people who would like what I was offering, but I was thrilled to be giving it a try.

Ever since we discovered my mate was pregnant, I’d been setting all of the money from my pieces aside for the baby, starting to grow quite a sizable amount.

My pottery-piece jewelry was doing exceptionally well.

It was funny because I didn’t think of myself as a jeweler or a jewelry designer of any kind, but for whatever reason, these found their audience.

And unlike the nightstands and the lamps, they were easy to ship.

They weren’t ideal for the store I was setting up in, and I kept them all aside from my online sales.

My mate insisted on being the one to load the van when he arrived, saying I worked too hard. I rolled my eyes and played the alpha card, telling him he was growing an entire human being, and maybe he should let me do it.

It was safe to say we were both ridiculous. There was no alpha card, and we were both working too hard. He listened to me about that less than I listened to him about his work habits.

It didn’t take long to set up our display. I already had a pretty good idea in my head about what I wanted to do, and it came together beautifully.

When the owner checked out what I had done, he insisted I double all my prices.

“You want me to double these?”

He nodded.

“I was kind of hoping they would sell quickly.”

“Exactly. So do it.” He wasn’t backing down.

I thought he’d lost his mind, but he knew his buyers better than I did. Might as well take the suggestion—if it was one. It came across as more of a command.

We took all the tags off and priced everything again, thanked the owner, and we went on our way to Korean barbecue—my mate’s current craving. We had a blast grilling our food and eating far more of it than we should.

My phone vibrated in my pocket multiple times through our meal, but I was unwilling to be distracted from my time with my mate.

If it had been my brother, there would have been a loud ring with it as well, and even though I might not hear it, my mate would have. And if it wasn’t family, it could wait.

After dinner, we walked around the plaza, stopping at the ice cream place for my mate’s other current craving, chocolate syrup with a drop or two of ice cream in it. The poor teen who was scooping him up kept setting the ladle down.

My mate was having none of that.

“No, a tad more.”

“Nope, not enough just yet.

“Just a drop more.”

Eventually, he agreed it was enough and he took his and sat down to eat as I waited for my scoop of coconut swirl.

It was good that my mate was so busy eating his dessert.

If he knew how many extra toppings he’d been charged for, he’d be mad at himself.

I didn’t mind; a craving was his body’s way of telling him what he needed.

He ate every bite and scraped off as much of that sauce as he could with his spoon.

I made a mental note to buy both items for our freezer because I’d learned very quickly that his pregnancy cravings didn’t care what time it was and what stores were or were not open.

When we got home, he raced toward the bathroom, grumbling about my baby kicking his bladder.

“My baby? Because I seem to remember when they were kicking away from your bladder and happy, it was your baby.”

He turned and stuck his tongue out at me before racing the rest of the way to the bathroom.

My phone buzzed again. This time I took it out, surprised to see it was the consignment app from the home furnishings store I’d been to earlier.

“Crap. What did I do wrong?”

Only, when I opened the app, I hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, I’d done everything right.

Over half my items had already been purchased while I had dinner with my mate. Not only had they sold, they sold for the over-the-top prices recommended to us.

The second the bathroom door opened, I raced to my mate.

“You won’t believe this.”

I handed him the phone, and he beamed down at it.

“You’re wrong. I 100 percent believed and expected this. I told you, you’re an artist.”

I hadn’t believed him at the time, not seeing myself that way at all, and I didn’t fully see myself that way now. But I did have a lot more confidence in my work. Part of me wondered if maybe this endeavor might become more than a hobby, a side hustle.

Maybe it could become my entire career.

One could dream.