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Skeptical

Gwendolyn

C rossing the threshold wasn’t as difficult as Gwendolyn thought it would be.

Her determination far outweighed her apprehension of whoever was inside the antique store.

Gwendolyn may have been socially awkward, perhaps even antisocial, but she knew the script of interacting as the customer.

Something that was far easier than being the one serving.

The first thing Gwendolyn noted as she came to halt in the entryway was how organized everything was.

Her mother had taken her to antique stores when she was a child, and Gwendolyn remembered them being cluttered and musty.

China dolls piled on top one another, rickety rocking chairs shoved tightly together.

It had felt claustrophobic at the time, like Gwendolyn could disappear and never be seen again.

She supposed it made sense, as Mrs. Han said the antique store was new.

Gwendolyn hadn’t recalled seeing the teal door before, and knew she would have taken notice of it immediately.

She was attracted to colors, the bolder it was, the more attention she gave.

It was why she avoided wearing such colors herself.

The walls were painted in the same shade of teal as the front door, a sharp contrast to the warm wooden furniture.

Things were arranged much like a display at a department store, setting the scene for a lovely parlor.

The fireplace being the biggest focal point in the room.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was someone’s house, not an antique store…

Her eyes were so busy taking in every craftsman glass light fixture that she didn’t notice the man in the velvet chair until their eyes met.

Dark eyes, so dark Gwendolyn wasn’t certain what color they were, only that they captured her attention.

They could have been black, if Gwendolyn didn’t know better.

Peering up at her from beneath a parted curtain of messy bangs was a rectangular face—a handsome face with tan skin just shy of being warm.

Her eyes flicked across prominent cheekbones, to the slight curve of his nose, to the devastating peaks of his cupid’s bow.

A mouth the shade of pinkish brown that wasn’t too far off from Gwendolyn’s own.

His facial features were difficult to place—much like Gwendolyn’s own.

She wouldn’t have been surprised if this man was often called the blanket term of ‘Asian’ versus a specific race.

Gwendolyn could relate.

It was much easier to say Filipino than a mix of Filipino, Hawaiian, and several European countries.

It also made his age difficult to pin down.

At best, Gwendolyn would guess perhaps late thirties like herself.

Early forties, maybe, but it was always difficult to tell when Asian didn’t raisin .

Either way, he has expensive taste, Gwendolyn thought as she eyed his outfit.

The suit was as form fitting as any outfit she had hand sewn for her dolls, suggesting his attire was likely tailor made.

Custom usually meant expensive, something she was familiar with, given the time it took her to make a single doll.

A cane lay across the leg he had thrown over the other, giving Gwendolyn a decent view of the bottom of his glossy boot.

Everything was so perfectly coordinated monochromatic in design that she nearly missed the straps of a harness across his high collared dress shirt.

He was so … visually interesting.

“Ah, there you are,” the man said, leaning back in his seat.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” she questioned, both skeptical and pleased.

Though Gwendolyn had no idea why she felt an inkling of the latter.

The man hummed with a nod, gesturing to the chair across from him.

The cushion was an off blue, silver fabric with gold trim lining that extended to exquisite leafing along the wood.

It looked expensive, and felt the same as she carefully sank into the chair.

Mrs. Han hadn’t mentioned the antique store was so high end.

She also failed to mention him, she thought as she squirmed under his gaze.

Men had looked at Gwendolyn before.

The unwanted attention was something she had grown accustomed to from an early age.

Puberty had a major hand in that, stripping her of the comfort of an oblivious childhood.

It was part of the reason Gwendolyn dressed the way she did, why she didn’t wear makeup, and why she kept her hair plain.

She was never outwardly hostile, but she didn’t invite people into her space, either.

Her job got the best version of her when it came to being personable .

The whorl in Gwendolyn’s belly when this man looked at her was different.

A lazy stare, as if he had all the time in the world to look at her, despite being surrounded by so many beautiful things.

He was attractive—Gwendolyn knew beauty when she saw it—but that rarely stirred anything within her.

And it didn’t explain the conflicting suspicion that there was something off about him, though Gwendolyn couldn’t say what.

He didn’t raise any of the normal red flags, the ones that were easily seen from a mile away .

It was all so…

Out of place.

“Well, shall we get started?” the man asked.

“I—I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

What on earth was he talking about?

“You’re here for something, are you not?”

“Well, yes—”

“Then, let’s begin.”

Before Gwendolyn could voice any more of her confusion, the man pulled something from within his suit jacket.

A card deck of some kind, with an obsidian backing and metallic teal-blue design obscured by his large hands.

Silver rings glinted around long fingers as he extended the cards toward Gwendolyn, looking at her expectantly.

She was caught off guard by the glimpse of black ink on the back of his hand.

A tattoo? Gwendolyn wasn’t certain as she accepted the deck of cards, holding them gingerly.

“Shuffle them as many times as you like, then give them back to me.”

Instructions easy enough to follow, Gwendolyn noted the curious design on the card backing.

A crescent moon inside a smaller circle nestled within a web of sharp points that extended out toward a larger circle.

Gwendolyn didn’t recognize the design, but the elements felt familiar in a way she couldn’t place.

She couldn’t explain why she was indulging the man, either.

It was almost as if she had lost the will to argue.

Whatever questions had barely begun to form in her mind vanished at the brush of his fingers against hers.

A sharp pain ricocheted through her hand, causing her to wince as he slid the cards from her hold.

A small quirk to his mouth, “Shocked a bit, were you?”

“Amazing how static electricity works that way,” she grumbled, then immediately tensed at her slip up.

Surprisingly, the man appeared amused.

“You’ll find I do things a little differently here in comparison to most antique shops.”

With a flick of his wrist, the cards in his hand fanned out.

The move was so seamless, Gwendolyn had to wonder if he moonlit as some kind of eccentric magician on the weekends.

His smile widened, revealing a near perfect smile, save for the prominent canines that glinted in the light.

For a moment, Gwendolyn questioned if he had read her thoughts before dismissing it.

More irrational ramblings from her sleep depraved mind.

“People come to my Antiquarium with no idea what they’re looking for,” he explained as he raised the cards high enough to hide his mouth.

“Aimless, really. I take a bit of the guesswork out of their decision making by helping them narrow it down a little.”

Gwendolyn raised a brow.

“With a parlor trick?”

The man’s laugh was low and frustratingly charming.

“No, no, this is less about … theatrics and more about intuition .”

Sounds like new age horseshit, Gwendolyn thought.

Besides, I know what I want .

It was doubt that stayed her hand, but it was his dark gaze that enticed her.

A strange sensation—no, anticipation—that she couldn’t explain.

The sound of her wrist watch ticking so loudly in the quiet antique store eventually broke her from the strange pull.

“I just pick a card?”

He nodded.

Gwendolyn ignored the way her heart shook, reaching forward and snagging the first card her eye locked onto.

Better to pull a thorn out right away than slowly draw it out, right?

Gwendolyn flipped the card over and immediately frowned at the image.

Displayed on the card was a toy jester.

It had a sad painted face, and it sat alone in a sea of darkness.

The teal ornaments bracketed the image within the confines—like a cage.

At the bottom were two words.

Confused, she flipped the card back to show him, “The Doll?”

“Ah, you picked a good one,” the man lowered the card, revealing teeth.

“That card is very special.”

“How so?”

“The Doll represents creativity. You’re an artist. You’re looking for something to inspire you…” the man tilted his head, thoughtful—no, appraising .

“Perhaps something small? Like—well, a doll?”

This was all …

highly suspect. Gwendolyn could maybe accept eccentric antique store owners, but one that knew she was an artist?

Furthermore, one that knew she was after a very specific item?

Had Mrs. Han told him about her?

But that didn’t make sense, since the elderly woman said the shop had been closed, so how could he possibly know?

Furthermore, why am I humoring this nonsense?

“I’m looking for a very specific doll,” Gwendolyn explained, eyeing the card in her hand.

There was something …

strange about the drawing that she couldn’t place, either.

“Ah—it would be a lot newer than this doll. It would be unique as the doll is entirely pink—”

“Lot 145. A 2011 Miss Moxie Doll: Maddie Moxie in Millennial pink,” he lifted his cane, pointing it just over Gwendolyn’s shoulder.

Gwendolyn whirled in her seat and felt her breath catch.

Propped on the ornate shelf beneath a gold-framed mirror was Maddie Moxie .

Without a word, she rushed out of her chair toward it.

It was protected by a glass dome, similar to the ones she had seen in baking shows.

“Packaging was lost, but it comes with all the original accessories,” the man went on somewhere behind her.

He wasn’t lying. Gwendolyn’s eyes examined the doll, taking in the items she had only ever seen online.

Maddie Moxie came with a crop top, slacks, and a trench coat, all in different shades of pink.

Her necklaces were big and chunky, a reflection of the time period.

She even had the sunglasses, and appeared perfectly new.

Gwendolyn would have to actually touch it, though, to see.

“She’s perfect,” Gwendolyn whispered in awe before calling over her shoulder.

“How much?”

“Oh, she’s not for sale.”

The sentence wasn’t just unexpected, but confusing.

Gwendolyn turned on her heel, eyeing the man who had managed to close some of the distance between them without her notice.

Standing, he was perhaps a head taller than her.

Not bad, given Gwendolyn was around five-seven.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Just what I said,” he replied, leaning against his cane.

“She’s not for sale. ”

The words were brutal, a blow Gwendolyn hadn’t anticipated at all.

Limited run dolls were expensive, perhaps a few hundred dollars, depending on multiple factors.

It was money Gwendolyn had been prepared to spend, as most of her custom dolls went for a similar price range.

She had bargained for things in the past, but never for something that wasn’t even on the market.

A flush raced up her chest as frustration built within her.

She took a moment to collect herself.

Bargaining required a proper dialogue and time.

“Is she already spoken for?”

The man glanced at the doll, “In a way.”

Okay, you evasive fucker , she thought nastily.

No, she couldn’t lose her temper now.

Gwendolyn could rage when she was at home with the doll safely in her apartment.

For now, she pushed back against her feelings as she typically did, mind racing to solve her current problem.

She wanted that doll.

“Would there be any way you’d be able to part with it?” she asked, doing her best not to glance at the doll in desperation.

“Well … I suppose if you want it that badly , something could be arranged.”

Her jaw tightened, the man had called her bluff.

When he didn’t elaborate further, Gwendolyn cursed him in her mind once again.

“Arranged…” she prompted, this time glancing at the doll.

“I could let you have it on a trial basis. A sort of lease to own thing, as it were,” the man moved to her side, focused on the doll.

“You see, this doll is very special. Unique. Why, you could also say it is life changing. ”

“Life changing, huh?” she rolled her eyes toward him.

“How? ”

He chuckled, “Well, that’s not for me to say. But I can guarantee that if you were to take this doll home, it will change your life.”

Oh, this better be good, you snake oil salesman .

“Okay, lease to own…” she exhaled.

“And how much does a doll that will change my life cost?”

The man turned his head and Gwendolyn finally noticed the dark brown of his eyes as he regarded her.

“Oh, something quite affordable. All I want is a kiss.”