Chapter 8
When Gage stepped into Christopher’s store, he wondered if he’d made the wrong choice. He felt far too big and clumsy to work around so many old and delicate items. And this wasn’t like the few antique stores he had been to before, with mostly dusty old junk and faded relics priced for cheap. Of course not. Not in that neighborhood. Even Gage’s uneducated eye knew he was surrounded by treasures—expensive treasures at that. If he f****d up and broke something, Christopher would probably never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.
The smell hit him by the third step inside the door. A combination of old leather, brittle paper, and pine. It smelled a little like his grandparents’ attic, but fresher. If memories had a scent, that’s what it would be. Clinging to artifacts from a
