Close to Destiny (A Magical Love Story)

Chapter 56

May 23, a half hour later

As I ran down the street, my sandals splashed through puddles left behind by an early afternoon rainstorm. My heart was beating so hard I felt it would jump out of my chest when my footsteps reached the shopping gallery. I hurried through the doors and pushed past ladies who lunched and mothers with strollers.

The last time I'd been to this place had been on the first day of the year. I'd never dared to return after the meeting with who I now knew to be Zachary Taylor. The store was the very last one, on an angle of sorts, with its door directly facing the outside world rather than the gallery itself. It was as if in an effort to make use of every inch of London, where space was scarce, someone carved a tunnel between two walls and set up shop.

My footfalls slowed as I reached a brightly colored perfumery followed by a chocolate maker. Floral and sugary scents mixed, turning my stomach. I took a few more steps and looked at the window display of straw hats, yellow cloth cloches, matching gloves and dainty handbags. I had arrived.

A set of three delicate brass bells jingled as I pushed open the door and slipped into the narrow shop. I recognized the same saleswoman who had been working on the first day of the year.

Her red cupid's-bow lips stretched into a smile as she asked if she could help me find something.

"Um, no, thank you. I'm only looking for the moment."

She smiled again and turned back to the scarves she had been folding into perfect squares. Once again, I was the only customer in the store.

I felt uneasy, not quite sure what I was looking for or expecting to find. At random, I made my way over to a display of summer hats. I picked them up, one after the other, examining the details of silk flowers and soft cotton, and studying the labels.

On my fourth hat, I drew in a sharp breath. The brand, printed in small, elegant script, was "Taylor & Hook." With shaking hands, I made my way through the rest and found five others with the same label.

Slowly, I approached the saleswoman and cleared my throat. She looked up with the same serene smile she had worn a few minutes earlier.

"I... um... have one little question now," I said. "I was wondering about the brand 'Taylor & Hook.' Is there anything you can tell me about it? I mean, the origin."

"Always an excellent, elegant hat," she said, slipping around the counter and leading me back to the display. "The label was created in the 1800s by two entrepreneurs, Zachary Taylor and Jonathan Hook."

"He had his hand in everything, didn't he?" The words escaped my mouth.

"Ah, so you have heard of their other business activities," the woman said, the smile still plastered across her face. "Yes, this is the only fashion-oriented one. It happened by accident from what they say. Mr. Taylor's sister was quite a seamstress and made the most beautiful hats. One day Mr. Hook gave one to his wife as a gift, and she loved it so much, well, her excitement gave Mr. Hook and Mr. Taylor the idea to start selling the hats. They figured if the fashionable Victoria Hook thought the hats were beautiful, so would other women. As it turned out, they were right."

I don't know how I was able to keep my composure as the saleswoman presented me with hats from the latest collection and explained the details of fabrication and design. It was as if the whole scene was unfolding in slow motion.

"Do the families—Taylor and Hook—still own the business?" I finally whispered.

"Oh, no, they sold it about fifty years ago. You know how difficult it is nowadays to have a small family business in this industry. It seems the big fish have swallowed up the little ones. But I assure you the Taylor & Hook creativity and quality remain. May I interest you in trying one on?"

"No, no that's OK," I said, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded. "I'm in a hurry today. I'll come back another day."

One more bright smile, and the saleswoman returned to her stack of scarves.

What to think of this? The problem was I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to accept it. It wasn't as if I could even take a step back, pretend that it had nothing to do with me personally, and use this information for my magazine article. And end up locked up once again? No way. I hadn't focused on food, dieting, weight or calories in what seemed like forever. In that sense, I was ready to yell from the rooftops: "It's over! I'm cured!"

But I wasn't cured. I was merely suffering from a different illness. And this was one I couldn't easily identify. What worried me the most was the feeling I was losing my mind. Believing what was unbelievable meant a person was going crazy, right? At least that's what I'd always thought. If that was true, I was in serious trouble. In a matter of a few months, I'd had numerous conversations with a man who had lived more than 100 years ago; accepted that I had been part of a romantic tragedy in another century; met the man of my dreams who had also been the man of my dreams in that other life; and had worn a vintage hat to see into the past. And then there were, of course, the mysteries of Destiny's knowledge, Gabriel's parties and probably so much more...

I threw my pen across the room, then reluctantly retrieved it. To continue writing. Seeing the words on paper made me realize how truly insane all of this was—but any so-called "rational" explanations seemed even more absurd.

And none of this solved the problem of my article. The clock continued ticking.

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