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The chair was late Georgian period. Diarmuid was instantly drawn for it, as it made him think of flowing water, with it's arm rests curling and turning and the decorative back rest following the same soft, round shape. It had lost the cushion and the slats between the legs seemed to be broken, but those would be easy repairs. It stood in the corner of the room alone and abandoned, like calling Diarmuid to buy it. He tried not to look too interested about it while he followed Ciaran haggling DeMervilles with the pieces they had actually came to look.
”It's a nice chest,” Ciaran said while knocking on the top of the furniture in question, ”Edwardian, but the back needs to be redone, and it needs a good polish.”
The older man, who had introduced himself as Baron DeMerville, nodded. ”It's been on the family since it was made. Ordered all the way from England. It will be a shame to see it go.”
Diarmuid tried not to smile. Both of the DeMervilles had thick french accent and the mansion they now stood was just their so called holiday home, when they needed an escape to Irish countryside from their castle in French. He had heard rumors they had run into some financial problems and were maybe forced to sell the whole place, even though they had told Ciaran they were looking to declutter some of the old furniture in the mansion.
”I understand, it's a lovely piece. How much are you thinking of getting from it?” Ciaran asked.
”400,” the Baron said, and Ciaran clucked his tongue, moved further away to look the chest of drawers further away, made the counter offer of 250. Diarmuid looked around the room while the two haggled and noticed the younger DeMerville, Raymond was staring at him with - what Diarmuid assumed - seductive look. He averted his eyes and stared one of the paintings instead, stepped closer to have a better look but it was a mistake as Raymond took it as an opportunity to follow along to chat him up.
”Beautiful, yes? French impressionist, late 1800's.”
”Yes, I can tell.” It was beach scene and Diarmuid loved the bright pastel colors of the sky. ”Are you looking selling this one too?”
”Sadly, no. My father wants to bring this with him to our home in France.” Raymond moved closer to Diarmuid, not quite touching but it still made Diarmuid's skin crawl. ”But we are going to stay here all summer, if you want to come and look at it before we take it away. I'm sure there's other things I could show you, too.”
”I think I have already seen enough,” Diarmuid said and returned back to Ciaran and Baron, who had reached happy middle and were shaking on it. When the other man turned to lead them to next room Diarmuid saw Ciaran smile and knew he had got a good deal from the piece.
They bought another Edwardian piece, a nice wooden bed frame, alongside with table from early regency era and Victorian style book case. There was one small marble statue, a chest bust of some French lord which caused bit more haggling, but eventually Ciaran and Baron reached the price they both agreed on. That concluded the business which Diarmuid was glad of, because Raymond kept standing way too close for comfort no matter where Diarmuid moved in the rooms they were in.
While they were looking the best way to move the Edwardian chest of drawers Diarmuid pointed to the Georgian chair he had been looking earlier. ”How much do you ask for that?”
Baron raised his eyebrows. ”Ah, well, it's old piece -”
”But it's broken and needs some restoring before we can sell it.” Diarmuid said firmly. He didn't plan to mention he wanted to keep the chair to himself. ”And these usually come in pairs so-”
”300” said Raymond. Baron shushed at him but Diarmuid shook his head.
”I give you a 100.” Raymond looked outraged but Baron glanced at him and he remained silent.
”200” Baron offered, but Diarmuid still shook his head. It would have been a fair price, but he wanted to see if he could get it lower.
”150” he said and Baron offered him his hand to shake as a deal being struck. Raymond looked sour. Ciaran smiled at Diarmuid behind DeMervilles backs.
Baron asked some workmen from the grounds to help Ciaran and Diarmuid to load the furniture in their van. Once everything was secured to it's place he shook first Ciaran's, then Diarmuid's hand. ”It was pleasure to make business with you, gentlemen. Some of the pieces need repairing before reselling, yes? What are you going to do with them?”
Diarmuid smiled at him. ”We know a man.”
**********
”Are you sure you're good taking this lot down by yourself?” Ciaran asked while they were driving back to their store. He had a client coming in on the afternoon and had suggested they'd take the furniture down to the carpenter together the next day.
”I'm sure.” Diarmuid insisted. ”I have nothing important to do in the shop, do I?”
”No, no I can manage on my own. But it's a long drive and -”
”It's only an hour drive to Waterford.” Diarmuid said. ”I help him unload the stuff, maybe get some lunch somewhere and then drive back before tea, alright?”
”If you insist.” Ciaran hummed. ”I'll give him a ring to know you're coming.” Diarmuid stared sternly on the road to avoid seeing the knowing smile on his father's face.
**********
Diarmuid already knew the route by heart. He told himself the butterflies inside his tummy was just hunger and nothing else, not the anticipation of seeing David Shepherd in his workshop. The place was located outskirts of Waterford, and it had been pure luck that Ciaran had discovered D. Shepherds Frech Polishing & Woodwork overall; it had been a very small advert in the local paper one time when Ciaran and Diarmuid had been in the area for an auction. Ciaran had called the number and had a long conversation with the person on the other end, although it had sounded to Diarmuid that Ciaran did most of the talking. After the call Ciaran had scoffed ”American! Can you believe it!” like it had been most bizarre thing ever to happen. Diarmuid knew his father doubted someone from ”the new continent” didn't have the skills to work with old European pieces. They had agreed that Mr. Shepherd would fix one of the Chippendale style mirror frame Ciaran had acquired, and if the work would be up to Ciaran's standards they would continue working together in the future.
David Shepherd's workshop was attached to his small house and when Diarmuid met the man the first time he felt like his insides got all hot and bothered. The man wasn't biggest Diarmuid had ever seen, but he had wide shoulders and impressive arms which were on full view from plaid shirt sleeves rolled all the way up, making him look more of a wrestler or a lumberjack. He had wild curly dark hair and beard which made him look bit unkept and his big nose looked like it had been broken at least once, but his big black eyes were shy when he introduced himself, shaking both of their hands. Ciaran did most of the talking again, showing the frame and explaining what he had in mind, while David Shepherd stroked his fingers over the curves, examined the wood and parts were the frame had broken and then simply nodded ”I'll get it done for you, sir.” Few weeks later he called that the frame was ready and when Ciaran saw Diarmuid could instantly tell how impressed he was. The frame was absolutely stunning, repaired and restored in a way which made justice for the piece without taking the age out of it. Ciaran had sold it the very next day to extremely eager client and they had done business with David ever since.
Often they drove to his workshop together when on their way to clients or auctions, but it had seemed lately that Ciaran kept remembering appointments last minute leaving Diarmuid visit David alone. David always talked very little, but he listened when Diarmuid told about the pieces or rambled on about auctions or places they had been visiting with Ciaran. During his visits he had managed to learn that David was half french from his mothers side even though it was almost impossible to catch from his accent which was prominently American. He had grown in the states but had spent big part of his youth in France learning the trade. ”I've been doing this almost 20 years” he had once said when Diarmuid had asked how David knew how to mix the right amount of oils and things into his polish mix. That gave Diarmuid some rough idea about the man's age; He knew he had started young at his grandfathers shop, so Diarmuid guessed him being something between 34 and 38. Surely not 40. Which made him about 13-17 years older than Diarmuid. It wasn't too much, right? Diarmuid's attraction to older things wasn't limited only towards antique furniture. Not that Diarmuid even knew if David was into men, or if he was into Diarmuid, but he had noticed how David's eyes lingered on him and how he seemed extra nervous around Diarmuid. But then again maybe David just was like that. He knew David loved animals and he had a dog and few cats hanging around his workshop and he seemed to be more eased around the animals than with humans. Once he had been so busy lecturing one of the cats not to get her paws in the freshly painted cupboard that he hadn't heard Diarmuid arriving. Diarmuid still remembered fondly how adorable the man had looked when he got all flustered and embarrassed from getting caught.
Anyway, it might have all been just silly daydreaming, Diarmuid told himself when he turned to the road leading to the workshop. Maybe David wasn't even into him. Maybe he wasn't even gay. It was still a pleasure to visit him and watch his strong, callused hands work delicately over the furniture and imagine what they would feel like on Diarmuid's skin instead.
**********
This time David heard the van driving into his yard, as he was standing by the double doors leading to his workshop by the time Diarmuid jumped down from the drivers seat.
”Hello!”
”Afternoon, Mr. Manach,” David smiled and Diarmuid laughed.
”Diarmuid,” he corrected. David always called him Mr. Manach and Diarmuid always asked him to call him by his first name, like an inside joke they had. David's smile deepened and for a second they just stood there smiling at each other until Diarmuid cleared his throat. ”I brought some new pieces for you, if you have time to take them in?”
”Of course, Diarmuid.” The name rolled out from David's tongue softly and send shivers down Diarmuid's spine. David came to help him get the van doors open and together they started to unload the furniture. It had taken three men to carry the bed frame and the chest of drawers back at DeMerville's, but they managed with just the two of them – Diarmuid felt like he was mainly hanging as a support on the other end and David could have easily carried both pieces inside his workshop by himself. Ciaran had judged the table and the bookcase being good to sell as they were and Diarmuid had dropped them at their shop alongside with Ciaran, but Ciaran wanted the bed frame to be polished and the chest of drawers needed some minor fixing like he had pointed out at the DeMervilles. David listened carefully when Diarmuid explained what Ciaran had said, nodding along the way while inspecting the work.
”That shouldn't take long.” David said, brows furrowing as he did some mental calculation. ”A week, two in max.”
”Sounds good.” Mentally Diarmuid was cheering for another opportunity to see David soon. He felt something brushing against his legs and saw David's grey cat there, begging to get noticed. He let out a delighted hello and squatted down to give it some scratches. The cat closed it's eyes and enjoyed the attention.
”She likes you,” David said.
”It's good to know my visits are welcomed!” Diarmuid laughed while the cat brushed herself against Diarmuid's hand.
”They are always a pleasure,” David said and when Diarmuid looked up at him surprised, David looked embarrassed and cleared his throat. ”So, um, yeah I can give Ciaran a call when these are ready for pick up.”
”Okay.” Diarmuid straightened up, and then he remembered the chair. ”Wait, there's one more thing.” He scooted to the van and back before David managed tot move, carrying the chair inside and placing it on top of the low workbench. ”This one as well, if you have time for it.” He felt the need to add ”I got this to myself, so it's in no rush.”
David let out a low whistle. ”That's a beauty.”
”Soon as I saw it I just had to have it. Something about it just... Sometimes you see things and just know they are right for you, you know?”
David nodded, looking intently at Diarmuid. ”Yeah, I know what you mean.” He seemed to get bit flustered and moved his attention back to the chair, walking around and inspecting it. ”Oak, it seems and in pretty good shape. The supporting slats are easy to fix, I think I have just right kind of pieces of wood in my storage.” Diarmuid wasn't sure if he had ever heard David talk so much at one go. ”I could ask Mael if he'd do the cushion for this, he's restored many of these before, I'm sure he would me up for it. What do you think about green? I think it would look real nice on y- on the chair.”
Mael was David's friend who was a upholsterer and he had done some work through David for Ciaran before. Diarmuid had heard David talking about him, but then one time when he came to pick up a dinner table with matching chairs David had polished for them Mael had been visiting too, and Diarmuid had had hard time hiding his surprise. Mael was even bigger than David, with big hands and it had felt impossible to think that he could have been able to do all the delicate things with fabrics which Diarmuid had seen from his works.
”That would be great, thank you.”
”I can make this real pretty for you, a good nice polish to finish it off.” Diarmuid watched when David ran his hands over the shape of the chair's backrest, tested the legs, stroked first one of the armrests, then the other. He moved to study the cushion frame, testing the corners where the parts were joined. He frowned and moved his hand over one section for few times. ”There's something here.”
”Where?” Diarmuid moved closer but couldn't see anything from the dark colored wood.
”It's hard to see but. Here.” David took his hand and moved it, pressed his own fingers against Diarmuid's to guide then feel the surface. Diarmuid could feel it, the small markings carved into the wood with his fingertips. He could also feel the warmth of David's body against his and could smell him, the sawdust, the polish and different kind of oils, the deep musk that was just him. He was aware that David was still holding his hand where they both had their fingers pressed against the tree. ”I think it's a carving the maker has done. Like a... Like a signature. You can feel the initials here. Only it feels like there's two sets of them, so it's more likely a note who made the chair and for who.”
Diarmuid turned his head a bit to look at David. David was staring their joined hands, like he was determined not to look Diarmuid in the eye. Diarmuid felt his hand shaking, or maybe it was David's or both of them. ”You...” He started but his voice sounded strained so he swallowed and started again. ”You mean like a love note?”
David nodded, still not meeting his eyes but Diarmuid could see the flush rise from his neck. ”Could be. Maybe. It's hard to tell for sure but.. Could be, yeah.”
”Why is it put here where no one can see it? Usually these kind of things are very visible.”
”Maybe it wasn't meant to be seen. Maybe the receiver was already married to another. Maybe it was other kind of... forbidden love.”
”Gift from one confirmed bachelor to another.” Diarmuid said quietly and David nodded. ”That's so romantic though.” He imagined the chair owner sitting on it by the fire, maybe reading, perhaps a letter from the maker, how having something physical from the person they loved would have eased the long periods of separation. He was still tracing the initials with his fingertips and David's were still right there on top of his. ”It's a shame they'll get hidden again with the new cushion.”
”I could see if I can turn this slat over, so they would be visible from front. I'm sure I can get them cleared out so you could see them properly. Who ever they were, they have been hiding long enough, don't you think?.” David offered and Diarmuid's heart leaped. He looked David again, his long dark lashes, the profile of his gorgeous nose, the blush which kept creeping higher on his cheeks. David finally tilted his head to glance to Diarmuid and his big, beautiful eyes were full of something which Diarmuid hoped matched his own feelings.
”Do you want to go have lunch with me?” He blurted out. He needed to know if there was ever a chance or if this was all his imagination. ”Or coffee? Or, I don't know. Something. Anything? Or not, you can say no, I mean -”
”Yeah.” David grunted. ”Yes.”
”Yes?” Diarmuid smiled and David smiled too, so bashful and shy it made Diarmuid's heart soar.
”We could go to the pub.” David said. ”Or. I , I have some pasta salad I made yesterday, we could go inside and have lunch there?”
”I would love that.” Diarmuid sighed. ”Pasta salad sounds amazing.”
”Okay.” David nudged his head towards the back of the workshop, where was a door leading into his actual house. ”Do you want to..?”
Butterflies inside Diarmuid stomach were multiplying and flying faster. ”Yes.” He gasped. Behind the door was David's home, more clues to his personality and past, the meal and warm cups of coffee shared with childhood stories. There would be the dizzying drive home, so many phone calls and texts, giddily telling the news to Ciaran who would have already guessed, first proper date, first kiss, first night spent together, so many first. There would be David restoring the chair with same love and care what the original builder used for making it. There would be so much ahead of them waiting behind that door.
But they stayed where they were a little longer, beaming to each other in front of something new and wonderful, fingertips pressed against markings of love, preserved through the centuries.