Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“That’s a pretty necklace you’re wearing,” he said.
My fingers went to my throat. “Thanks. It was the first piece I ever designed.” My oak leaf was plain silver. No stones or fancy settings, but it was priceless to me. “I have an Etsy shop,” I said. There was no point in pretending to be anyone I wasn’t. This guy was as big as anyone could be in the industry. Nothing I said was going to impress him. “No diamonds or Bolivian emeralds.”
“Zambian.”
“Those either. No emeralds of any kind.”
He grinned at me, his eyes fixed on my face as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck that I was his date. “You make your own stuff for the Etsy shop or do you get it made?”
“I make it myself.” He didn’t have to know I had a couple of orders a month.
“I like the leaf. Is it you? Away from home, looking for a place to land?”
I took a breath before I answered and popped a chunk of bread in my mouth, trying to give myself some extra time. But even those additional seconds didn’t give me an answer. “I don’t know,” I said. Maybe I was. I wasn’t connected to the trailer park in any sentimental way, and although home should have felt like anywhere Autumn was, at the moment, I didn’t know where I belonged. I wanted more than I had in Oregon. Being here, in London, gave a sense of freedom I hadn’t expected. Sometimes I felt the pull of home, but I hadn’t been homesick. The feeling was usually accompanied by a rush of worry about what was going on when I wasn’t around to clean up after my parents or look after my sister. “When I think of an oak tree, I think of strength,” I said without thinking.
“Yes,” he said, an intense look on his face. “I like that.”
He didn’t elaborate and seemed much more comfortable in the following silence than I was.
“Do you design things?” I asked, wanting to shift him away from whatever it was he was thinking about.
He shook his head. “I leave that to more talented people.”
“So you’re the business brains?”
“I like to think I’ve got an instinct for what will look good when it’s translated from paper into reality,” he said. “I see myself as an editor—a curator of the design, if you like. And of course, I love stones. When I see an uncut stone, I can see the gem it will be. I can picture it when it’s cut and polished and in its setting.”
He had creative vision. With business brains. Argh. Why couldn’t he have been a bean counter? I guess that’s what made him one of the most successful people in the industry.
“I haven’t worked with stones. That’s why I’m here.”
“I’m not sure you’ll find any in the fondue.”
“Whoever told you that you were funny was lying.”
He laughed, perfectly satisfied with his joke.
“That’s why I’m here in London,” I clarified. “More experience. I want to turn a hobby into a career.”
One side of his mouth began to curl upward as if he was enjoying listening to me speak. Maybe it was my accent.
“So, if jewelry is just your hobby, what’s your career now?”
“I have a job, not a career. It pays the bills. Let’s not talk about it.” While I was here, I wanted to imagine that this was my only life now. The less I had to think about the worries that awaited me back home, the better.
A hint of a frown crossed Dexter’s forehead and I longed to reach across the table and smooth it down.
“What about you? What would you have done if you hadn’t been a jeweler?”
“There was no other path for me,” he answered without hesitation. “I was born to do this.”
“Because you love it or because it’s what your parents did?” It was amazing to me that anyone could be so sure about what they were meant to do with their lives.
“Most definitely both,” he replied. “What do your parents do?”
I groaned. “Not a lot.” I really didn’t want to talk about life back in Oregon.
Our fondue arrived just in time to save me from the question. The waitress placed a small saucepan on the burner in the middle of the table, with an array of bread, meats and vegetables alongside. I hadn’t thought this through. This blouse was rayon, but that didn’t mean it would wipe clean. Who came to a fondue restaurant for a first date?
“Who knows you best in the entire world?” I asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from my life in Oregon.
He offered me the bread basket and I stabbed a cube with my long fork.
“I have five best friends—we’ve been close since we were teenagers.”
“Nice,” I said. “Like a pack?”
“They’re human. Not wolves.” He growled, low and deep, and I swear I was a second away from pulling a Meg Ryan. Only I wouldn’t have been faking.