Chapter 16

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Alistair pulled his car to a stop in front of a quaint antique shop, its windows adorned with dusty trinkets and faded photographs. Dolores hopped out, a grateful smile on her face.

"Thanks for the ride, Alistair," she said, reaching for the door handle.

But before she could open it, Alistair was already out. "Actually," he said, pushing the door open for her, "swimming got canceled. Figured I could lend a hand with your Founder's Day project."

Dolores raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You won't be bored out of your mind surrounded by dusty antiques?"

"Nonsense," Alistair countered, his voice taking on a playful tone. "Besides, wouldn't you feel safer with your trusty knight in shining armor by your side?"

Dolores rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Fine, fine," she conceded. "You can come in, but promise not to touch anything fragile."

Alistair held up his hands in mock surrender. "Scout's honor."

Stepping inside, they were greeted by a warm, musty aroma and the gentle clinking of bells as the door swung shut. The shop was a treasure trove of history, crammed with dusty furniture, chipped china dolls, and faded portraits staring down from the walls.

Three pairs of eyes swiveled towards them – Imogen, Emmeline, her black hair framing her face , and finally, Ivan.

Dolores offered a cheerful wave. "Hey guys, sorry I'm late!"

Imogen raised her eyebrows. "No worries, Dolores," she said. "We just arrived ourselves. Didn't know you were bringing company."

Alistair, unfazed, flashed a charming smile. "The more the merrier, wouldn't you say?"

Emmeline, who was meticulously browsing a shelf overflowing with chipped teacups, glanced up and offered a polite smile. "Emmeline, at your service," she said.

Alistair nodded. "I know, we attend the same school."

Undeterred, Imogen gestured towards a cluttered shelf overflowing with dusty trinkets. "Alistair, why don't you be a dear and scour that lot? Anything vintage, anything that screams 'Founder's Day diorama brilliance.'"

Turning to Dolores , Imogen added, "Dolores, why don't you join Ivan over there? He could use an extra pair of eyes, wouldn't you agree?"

Dolores stole a glance at Ivan, who stood in front of a shelf, his hair catching the light filtering through the window. His back was turned as he meticulously examined a row of leather-bound journals, his usual air of cool aloofness clinging to him like a second skin.

Alistair lingered for a moment, his gaze flitting between Dolores and Ivan before he finally shrugged and sauntered off towards the diorama section. Dolores, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach, took a deep breath and approached Ivan.

"Hey," she offered, her voice slightly tentative.

Ivan offered a curt nod in acknowledgement, his eyes briefly meeting hers before returning to the shelf. Dolores scanned the dusty objects – porcelain dolls with chipped faces, tarnished silver candlesticks, and a collection of aged quill pens. Their eyes fell on a plain, broken brown-feathered pen tucked amongst the others.

"Do you think a feathered pen like this was used to sign the school charter?" Dolores asked, hoping to spark a conversation.

"Possibly," Ivan replied curtly. His gaze lingered on the pen for a moment before moving on to a leather-bound journal tucked in the corner.

Dolores, slightly discouraged, decided to try again. "Do you know anything about the first founders day?" she ventured, hoping his expertise might bridge the gap between them.

Ivan remained silent for a beat, then sighed, a barely audible sound. He shifted his position, giving her a sliver of side-eye. "Barely," he finally conceded. "Not much more than what's covered in history class."

Before Dolores could press further, Ivan abruptly moved away, his tall figure browsing another section of the shelf. Disappointment washed over Dolores. She wasn't sure if it was his cold demeanor or her own awkwardness, but striking up a conversation with Ivan seemed like a losing battle.

Dolores meticulously scanned the shelf, her fingers trailing along the dusty trinkets. Frustration gnawed at her. Finding another feathered quill felt like searching for a needle in a haystack. She stole a glance at Ivan, who seemed engrossed in a different section several shelves down. His broad shoulders were turned away, leaving her feeling a little isolated.

A loud groan echoed across the shop. Imogen, draped dramatically over a chair near the display case, threw her hands up in the air. "This project is hopeless! How are we supposed to find anything remotely interesting here?"

Emmeline rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Imogen. We just need to focus. Failing isn't an option."

Imogen scoffed playfully. "Well, someone should that guy over there that inspiration seems to be avoiding him too." She gestured towards Alistair, who was rummaging through a box of dusty buttons with a furrowed brow.

Alistair, catching her eye, gave a theatrical sigh and shook his head. "Alas, the elusive diorama muse remains elusive. But I have a feeling a breakthrough is just around the corner."

Dolores couldn't help but smile at their playful banter.

Just as Dolores was about to return her gaze to her uninspiring shelf, a clumsy misstep sent her head colliding with the edge of the shelf above. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as a porcelain vase teetered precariously from the upper compartment. It wobbled for a sickening moment, threatening to topple and shower her with shards.

Dolores flinched, bracing for the impact that never came. A hand shot out, miraculously catching the vase mid-fall. Relief washed over her as Ivan, his face unreadable, carefully placed the rescued treasure back on its perch.

Dolores stared at him for a beat, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I-I…" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "Thank you."

Ivan offered a curt nod, his expression betraying nothing. The awkward silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint hum of conversation from the other side of the shop. Dolores shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to continue their search or attempt another conversation

Frustration bubbled within Dolores. Here they were, partners on an art project besides the history project, and Ivan seemed determined to build an icy wall between them. She watched him retreat further down the shelf. With a sigh, she decided a direct approach might be best.

"So," Dolores began, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "about our art project…"

Ivan paused mid-reach, his head tilted slightly towards her. "What about it?"

Dolores gritted her teeth, forcing a smile. "Well, I was thinking maybe we could brainstorm some ideas together sometime," she suggested. "You know, outside of the antique shop?"

Ivan's expression remained unreadable. He hesitated for a beat, then shrugged his shoulders. "Fine," he conceded, his voice still lacking any real conviction.

Emmeline's voice cut through the tension, her excitement echoing through the shop. "Hey guys, look what I found!" she enthused, holding up a thick, leather-bound book. Its pages, though yellowed with age, seemed remarkably intact.

Dolores and Ivan exchanged a glance, their earlier conversation momentarily forgotten. Curiosity piqued, they followed Emmeline, who stood beaming by a display case overflowing with dusty tomes.

"Isn't this perfect?" Emmeline continued, flipping through the book with reverence. "Look at the paper quality! It would be perfect for replicating the Founder's Day charter."

Imogen even managed a begrudging smile. "Finally," she muttered, a hint of relief in her voice. "Something useful."

Dolores gathered around Emmeline, peering at the book with newfound hope. The aged paper, although fragile, held a certain charm. With a little creativity, it could be transformed into a centerpiece for their project.

Alistair sauntered over, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. "Aha! Looks like the tide is turning! Have I missed anything?"

For the first time that afternoon, a sense of camaraderie filled the air. The antique shop, once filled with dusty relics and awkward silences, now buzzed with the energy of their shared project.