Free Behold the Stars by Susan Fanetti Page A

to build more bookcases.
    She’d been in the shop for about two hours and was leafing through a decorating book from the 1950s when she heard Isaac come up behind her. He had a distinctive sound—the soft crinkle of his leather kutte, the vague metallic jingle of his wallet chain, the hefty chunk of his boots. She smiled as he put his hands on her waist and squeezed. His mouth at her ear, he whispered. “Hey, Sport.”
    “Hey yourself. Business handled?”
    “You bet. Whatcha reading?” He looked over her shoulder at the vintage decorating book. “Baby, if that’s your style, we can leave everything like it is.”
    She laughed. “No, I don’t think it’s my style. But the book is cool—historically speaking. I think I’m gonna buy it.” She turned and added it to the stack she’d accrued. He eyed it skeptically.
    “Damn, Sport. Good thing I didn’t leave you alone longer.” He picked up the double stack—only about twenty books—and they walked to the front counter.
     
    ~oOo~
     
    “What about this? I like the leather, and the lines are clean. I don’t like all the puffy crap.” Lilli ran her hands along the back of a long, black leather sofa with squared-off angles.
    Isaac eyed it critically. “The puffy crap is what makes a couch comfortable. You know, for sitting.” He sat down. “I don’t know, Sport. We’d need pillows or something on it if we wanted to lie down, and I hate those pussy little pillows.”
    Lilli sat next to him. The sofa seemed perfectly comfortable to her, and she liked the way it looked. She could imagine it in the room. “I can’t believe that a man who’s been sitting on a broken-down, wood-frame sofa for all this time is being so picky. Absolutely any sofa in here would be more comfortable than what’s in the living room now.”
    He stood and waved her off the sofa, too. She knew what he was going to do; he’d been doing it with every piece of furniture they’d looked at, and then he’d put the kibosh on every piece of furniture they’d looked at. She rolled her eyes and stood back. The sofa in question was arranged with other pieces—a matching chair, a cocktail table, end tables with lamps—for display. Isaac pulled the cocktail table away and turned the sofa over, lifting it clean off the floor and setting it back down, to examine its underside. Damn, he was strong. Lilli felt a nice little tingle in her nethers.
    “Jesus Christ. What a piece of shit. Lilli, the damn thing is stapled together . Staples! No way we’re spending a thousand bucks on trash like this.”
    The salesman—Ron was his name—who’d accosted them as soon as they’d come into the store and who’d since been becoming increasingly agitated by Isaac’s behavior, trotted over to them again. “Sir, please. Please. I have to ask you, again, to stop doing that.”
    Isaac stood to his full height, which was considerably higher than Ron could even reach. Ron stepped back, his retail indignation quelled by his fear of the huge biker looming over him. “Buddy, I know why you don’t want me looking, because this shit is shit, but I’m not buying anything without knowing how it’s made. We need furniture, so we have to shop. Go on now; I’ll put it back the way I found it.” Then he did exactly that, lifting the sofa and turning it over. Ron swallowed at the demonstration of strength and scurried off with a muttered, “Let me know if you need anything.”
    Isaac brushed his hands. “Good. Got rid of him.”
    “You enjoy that, did you?” He answered Lilli’s question with a grin and a wink.
    She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Seriously, love. We’re not going to find anything that’s made as well as you could make it. You’re an artisan. This is mass produced stuff.”
    “That’s the problem then, isn’t it? I should make it. What they charge for this crap is fuckin’ offensive. I could make a couch like that, with good hardwood instead of this