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“Yes.”

She walked toward it, touching the keys with her fingers.

“Of course you’re excited about office equipment.”

“It’s an antique.”

I noticed she had a little smile on her face while she looked at it. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen on her.

I looked around and noticed people with their phones out taking pictures. Several photographers were also capturing Darcy showing human emotion.

This plan might just work after all.

8

DARCY

Iwrote down a bid on the typewriter that was probably excessive, but I didn’t care. It was a gorgeous piece, a 1920s Underwood with brass keys. My father would love it. He had a thing for antiques, especially ones with history. This would look perfect in his home office.

“Do you plan on writing your memoir on it?” Beau asked.

“No. I want it for my dad. He likes this kind of thing.”

“That’s sweet,” Beau said. “Now find something for yourself.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t need anything.”

He snorted. “Everyone wants something.”

“Not me. I’m very fortunate. I don’t need anything.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted something without immediately finding a reason not to have it.

Wanting had always seemed like an indulgence. My father had taught me early that money wasn’t something you threw around simply because you had it. You were supposed to accomplish something with it. He was a wealthy man that had committed to never spoiling me.

Even when I was a child, I’d learned to distinguish between things I wanted and things that were worth having. The difference mattered.

I wanted a pony when I was eight. Dad bought me riding lessons instead.

I wanted a ridiculously expensive dollhouse when I was ten. Dad pointed out that I had an entire bedroom I could turn into whatever I wanted.

At sixteen, I wanted a sports car. He bought me a sensible sedan and told me I’d thank him when I was paying my own insurance.

Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped asking myself what I wanted at all. Wanting something simply because it made me happy had never been part of the equation.

“It’s not about need. It’s about want.” He gestured at the tables stretching along the wall. “Pick something. Something just for you. Do something nice for yourself.”

“I do plenty of nice things for myself.”

“Like what?”

I opened my mouth to answer and realized I couldn’t think of a single example. When was the last time I’d bought something purely because I wanted it? Everything I owned served a purpose. My clothes were professional. My car was reliable. My house was an investment. Even my greenhouse and garden, which I loved, were practical. I grew vegetables and herbs. Things I could use.

“See?” Beau said, clearly reading my silence. “You can’t even think of anything.”

“I have everything I want. I’m not a movie buff.”

“Come on. Let’s keep looking. One of those spa weekends.”

“Which I can buy on my own,” I reminded him.