Fantasy novel with 40 year old protagonist

Chapter 9

On Saturdays, the antique shop closed at 5 PM. This left Daciana about 30 minutes to get some answers to her questions and maybe even browse around a bit – because this place was a treasure trove jam-packed with things. Back-to-back oil paintings decorated the walls, most mediocre but also a few truly beautiful creations. A couple of portraits by the same author left her staring, one of peasants working the field with their animals, the other of a girl with piercing blue eyes, wearing a traditional garment, sitting in the grass with a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. Lower down the walls, old cameras hung by their straps. Adjacent to them, an entire collection of silver spoons with manufacturing years going back to the 1920s. Silverware and books, jewelry and watches were all stacked in boxes of various sizes. Vases of clay and crystal were kept separate to prevent damage. Coins, medals, and war decorations were visible through a window display that the clerk could access from behind the counter. Some furniture and traditional clothes could be found in the back. All of them pieces from an incomplete story.

"Bună seara, fată dragă!" an old man with a broad smile greeted her.

"Bună seara!" Daciana replied. "Din păcate, eu nu vorbesc bine româneşte. Vorbiţi cumva şi engleză?" she spoke the words she had practiced.

"My darling, in this day and age, almost anyone around here speaks English, and most Romanians also studied at least another foreign language. My wife and I can get by in about seven different languages, and the tourists who open our doors are always happy."

"Seven languages?" Dacy marvelled.

"Yes. You'd like to know what they are," he said without asking.

Daciana nodded.

"German was probably one of the first languages we learned, and this is because of the history of these parts. Because Romanian is our mother tongue, the Latin family of languages comes easily to us. I am better at French, and my wife is better at Spanish, but we're both good at Italian. We both know Russian because this was a mandatory class when our generation was young, and luckily, I also had the sanity to understand early on that knowing English would open many doors. My wife can get by but she is shy to speak because she learned it later, so she usually lets me speak whenever we have someone who prefers English. Add Romanian, and that makes seven."

"That's wonderful!" Coming from a place where some people found pride in only speaking one language, Daciana could not help but be moved by this seventy-something-year-old whose mind had the openness of a young child.

"What can I do for you, my dear? I have a feeling you're here for more than just looking around."

"The blouses you have in the back..."

"We called them <ie>. They are the traditional Romanian blouses worn by women for special occasions. Would you like to see them? Don't worry. We Romanians are not at all sensitive about cultural appropriation. Quite the opposite, we wholeheartedly love to share. We are so proud of what we make and want others to see and love our creations just as much as we do."

"I own one already. My grandmother left it for me, and I just got it recently."

"Are you trying to sell it?"

"No, nothing like that. I couldn't part ways with it. I just want to know a bit more about it."

"Why didn't you say so? I would love to have a look. Do you have it with you?"

"I do," Daciana said softly, reaching for her backpack and grabbing the bag inside, her heart pounding.

"Oh, what beautiful work!" said the old man, his wrinkly hands barely touching the fabric. "How did your grandmother come across this?"