Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

weariness that came from a conversation repeated over and over. ‘She’s looking forward to it.’

‘Being on stage in front of hundreds of people is much easier than this,’ complained Tim.

‘Hundreds?’ queried Amy, raising an eyebrow.

‘Tens,’ corrected Tim, with a laugh. ‘On a good night. But hey, we’re building a reputation. It takes time.’

Amy reached out and touched Tim’s arm. ‘You’ll be sleeping in my room with me,’ said Amy, her voice gentle. ‘How’s that?’

‘Perfect,’ said Tim, putting his hand on her arm. ‘Don’t expect any action though,’ he added, his voice falsely light. ‘I don’t think I could perform knowing your grandma is next door.’

‘Thanks for warning me,’ said Amy. The train pulled into a station and Amy smiled. ‘This is where that gorgeous little antiques shop is,’ she said. ‘Remember, the one I was telling you about?’

Tim stood up. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

‘I didn’t mean now,’ said Amy. ‘We’ll be late.’

‘Come on,’ he said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. ‘Be spontaneous.’

‘I suppose we can get the bus from here,’ she said. ‘It goes to the end of her road.’

‘Serendipity,’ replied Tim.

They got off the train and Amy led the way to the shop. ‘I can get a present for your grandma,’ said Tim.

‘She really doesn’t need anything,’ said Amy.

‘She must like presents, though,’ said Tim. ‘Everyone likes presents.’

‘She’s got too much stuff already,’ said Amy. ‘You’ll see what I mean when you get to her house.’

‘Let’s go and see this shop,’ said Tim. ‘Arnold’s. That’s it, right?’

‘It is,’ said Amy. They lingered by the window. Amy wondered if he’d remember.

‘That’s the ring you like?’ he asked, pointing to it. It had a pale blue stone with a tiny diamond on each side. ‘The one you told me about?’

Amy smiled. ‘Yep,’ she said. ‘It’s pretty, isn’t it? The colour reminds me of the sky, early on a summer morning.’

‘You and your skies,’ replied Tim, squeezing Amy’s hand. ‘Let’s go in.’

The owner, a gentleman in his seventies, greeted them. ‘I’m Arnold,’ he said, and to both their embarrassment reached out to shake their hands. ‘All this is mine,’ he said, gesturing around the shop as though it were a vast empire.

Tim nodded politely. ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Cool deer head.’

‘He’s an elk,’ replied Arnold, proudly. ‘Handsome beast, isn’t he? He’s travelled all the way from Canada.’

Amy breathed in deeply. The shop had a musty scent that reminded her of the university library. She used to walk by this shop all the time and gaze in through the window. But she didn’t often allow herself in and had never bought anything. It felt more like a museum than a shop; everything was just too beautiful to own.

Tim was peering at the tag on the ring. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘It’s not cheap.’

‘It’s an aquamarine,’ said Arnold. ‘Emerald cut, framed by two baguette diamonds.

Art Deco.’ He smiled. ‘Your sweetheart has lovely taste. Would she like to try it on?’

‘No, it’s OK,’ said Amy, blushing at the old-fashioned term. ‘I don’t actually want the ring,’ she lied. ‘I just like to look at it as I walk past. It’s been here for years.’

‘It’s waiting for a special home,’ said Arnold, and winked at them.

‘Very special at that price,’ said Tim. ‘You wouldn’t buy that unless you were going to propose.’ The words hung on the air. Amy picked up the closest thing to her, a small vase, feeling strangely awkward. They’d never discussed marriage; not yet twenty, it seemed an abstract and rather taboo subject.

‘Do you like that?’ asked Tim. He took the vase from her.

‘Vintage Bohemian glass,’ said Arnold. ‘Gorgeous iridescence to it, and only a tiny chip.’

Tim glanced at the price tag. ‘It’s lovely,’ he agreed.

‘It is,’ said Amy, barely noticing it. In her mind she was picturing their wedding, and it made her feel vaguely guilty. She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better get going,’ she said. ‘We’ll be late.’

‘I’ll get the vase for your grandma,’ said Tim.

‘She said not to get her anything.’

‘No one ever means that,’ replied Tim. ‘Does she like vases?’

‘I suppose,’ said Amy.

‘Can you wrap it?’ he asked Arnold.

‘Merry Christmas,’ said Arnold, flamboyantly shaking a bright red piece of tissue paper and dextrously wrapping it around the vase.

They both returned the greeting. Tim took the package and Amy shepherded him from the shop.

‘You were right,’ said Tim, shuffling uncomfortably on the floral sofa before reaching back to remove an unfortunate china doll he’d been sitting on. ‘Your grandma does have a lot of stuff.’

Amy looked around the room. School photos capturing various awkward stages in her childhood lined the mantelpiece, coupled with plasticine figurines she’d created at primary school. A teddy bear that had belonged to her father before her sat with them on the sofa, and her A level art projects occupied most of the wall space.

‘It’s nice,’ said Amy. ‘My parents didn’t save anything from when I was younger. They gave it all away for the needy.’

‘This house is like a shrine to Amy,’ said Tim, leaning over and giving her a little kiss.

‘I think it might be a shrine to you too, soon,’ said Amy, gesturing to where the vase sat, pride of place, next to a rather humble attempt at a parrot that the young Amy had crafted from macaroni, glue and a liberal sprinkling of glitter. ‘She loves that vase.’

‘I’m glad I got it for her,’ said Tim. ‘After all the trouble she’s going to.’

Amy’s grandmother had shooed them from the kitchen while she finished with the turkey, insisting they sit and rest. Two of her grandmother’s best china teacups sat in front of them, the sweet tea gradually cooling.

‘She loves Christmas,’ said Amy. ‘But my parents never come. They always volunteer for extra shifts at the hospital; plenty of people get sick in the holidays too, they say.’ It wasn’t much of a loss; her dad didn’t like turkey and her mum always asked for a donation to Amnesty International instead of a present. Amy preferred just being