Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Rain pelted me as I stepped out with my toolbox, but then Marcus was there, holding the door open for me with a smile. Despite the chill, it warmed me instantly.
I stepped inside to a mid-century time warp. There was stuff everywhere. So much so that I didn’t even notice the front desk until I trailed behind him to the back room. In my defense, the shop was dim, the only light coming through the narrow windows, the back door, which he’d propped open, likely to allow cooler air to filter through, and from a few candles he’d lit around the space.
I’d heard countless stories about his business, including the origins and different projects he seemed excited about, but actually being there was on a whole other level. Worthy’s was like a cross between an antique shop and a junkyard, and it was hard not to want to take in everything all at once.
“Your shop is pretty awesome,” I said, turning in a circle, noticing all the stuff lining each surface and crammed into every nook and cranny. “I’ve passed by this place so many times, but the outside looks pretty inconspicuous.”
“True,” he said, glancing out one of the tall windows, the view obscured by the rain. “I could change the sign to something brighter and more noticeable, but it’s the original, and I can’t seem to part with it.”
“No, you should keep it.” My gaze snagged on a couple of wooden cabinets lining the far wall. I had so many questions. “And all this stuff is…”
“A wreck. But it’s my wreck.” He laughed as he led us to a back corner, where a flashlight highlighted something he was working on. “It’s either stuff people dropped off for me to refurbish or endless projects I’ve been dabbling in for years.”
“Damn, no wonder you’re always here.”
Marcus grinned. “I could sleep here and still never get everything done.”
“I believe it.” My gaze caught on a standing radio that had to be from the forties or fifties. “Okay, that’s pretty darn cool.”
“My newest project.” He motioned me closer. “A 1946 Philco. Tricky, though. Been at it for hours.”
My fingers brushed over the sanded wood, noticing the buttons and dial at the top and the accordion-style slats below that covered the vertical speaker. “What’s tricky about it?”
“The circuitry.” He turned it around so I could see the open back portion, where he’d removed the panel to expose the ancient board. “I don’t have the skills to actually fix it, but I can make it look nice.”
“Damn, I’d love to take a stab at it sometime.” And I meant it. I missed dabbling in the kind of stuff I used to when I was a kid and had gotten one of those circuitry kits for Christmas. And Christ, now I remembered how I’d try a little too hard to impress my father by rewiring stuff to light up or make sounds.
“I’ve got it for the next couple of months since the customer is traveling abroad. So have at it. In fact, most of the things I’m taxed with are last-ditch efforts to save something sentimental, so the timeline is pretty lax.”
As I walked around to check out more of his shop, I thought about his offer. The idea of fiddling with stuff made excitement course through me. Maybe I’d stop by on a weekend when Grant had other plans.
“Now I’m curious about your house if this is what your business is like.” There was a little of everything there, from the smallest trinket boxes to tall bookcases. “You must have some interesting decor.”
“Not really.” He frowned. “We’ve never been that enthusiastic about our house. As I told you, we had plans to move one day.”
“I remember.” It was during one of our drinks-at-the-bar evenings after group. “So this place holds more sentimental value than your house?”
“Exactly.”
“I can see why,” I said, noticing an interesting set of wooden salt and pepper shakers. “It belonged to your grandfather. Your great-grandfather too, right?”
“Yep.” He stared out the window as if remembering something. “I used to help Grandpa Worthy when I was a kid. I’d ride my bike here after school. It’s one of my best childhood memories.”
I smiled. “I like that and can totally see the appeal.”
He walked me through some of the more interesting projects, like a school desk from the turn of the century and, honestly, it was great. I could tell how much it meant to him, and I felt privileged to have been invited here.
When the lights flickered on and off, he stopped in his tracks. “What does that mean? Is there hope I’ll get electricity back?”
“Let me test an outlet,” I said, though I already knew this outage had to do with the city’s power lines. But right then, I wanted to somehow seem useful to him.