“It’s all stuff made to look old, but none of it is old,” I hissed to my husband, Jacob, as we wandered the “antique” store.

“I know. But she’s here and she’s hovering, so just pretend to look,” he said from the side of his mouth, referring to the shopkeeper.

I rolled my eyes, a bad habit I can never seem to break.

I touched a small bureau that was clearly new, painted, and then sanded to look “distressed.”

“Not only is it all basically new, this shop is deceptive,” I whispered.

“Deceptive how?”

“It goes on for miles. I’d like to run right out the door already, but we have to follow this fucking maze of rooms all the way to the back.”

He grabbed my hand and... Read More