38
Gemma turned on the overhead light and it flickered once before illuminating her workbench. She didn’t know how long Celeste would let her keep her things set up, but she intended to make use of it for as long as possible. Work was all she had.
I’m seeing someone.
She set the pieces she’d bought at the estate sale onto the table, contemplating the copper butterfly brooch first. The best strategy for turning it into a pendant would be to drill a small hole near the top, feed a hook-topped wire through it, and then bridge that wire with a simple loop.
Gemma picked through her supply of hooks, clasps, and wire until she found something that would do the trick. Then she picked up the Dremel, attached a fine drill bit, and sat at the spot at the end of the table.
Wielding the tool felt powerful. She might have lost Sanjay, but at least in this one small way she could control something. She could bend and shape metal. She could drill a hole. She could create. Jewelry was about transformation. Maybe that’s why Gemma found it so satisfying. It was easier to change base metals into something beautiful than fix something in real life.
If the average person saw a diamond before it was cut and polished, they’d never dream of spending a dime on it. And metals transformed even more dramatically: Metal didn’t just become more beautiful, it became functional. Stainless steel could become a necklace chain, a watch band. Plated, the appearance of the metal itself changed to gold. She always loved the idea that metal could appear like something it wasn’t.
When the butterfly was secure in the clamps, she put on a pair of goggles, turned on the Dremel, and got to work. With the startup whir of the rotary tool, with the first give of the metal butterfly as it was pierced with the bit, Gemma experienced a heart-pounding uncertainty whether she would transform the piece or destroy it.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Celeste called from the doorway.
Gemma looked up. Her aunt was dressed in one of her usual cotton tunics, this one peach colored. Her hair was damp and loose, a cup of coffee in her hand. She felt a flood of affection for this woman, a stranger until just a few weeks ago. And now Gemma was working comfortably under her roof, productive. Inspired. Welcome.
She wanted to give something back. And she had an idea.
“Aunt Celeste, thank you again for letting me set up a studio here. And I was thinking . . . unless you have something else in mind . . . I would love to make your wedding bands. Yours and Jack’s. You can design them, choose the metal. Whatever you like.”
Her offer didn’t seem to have the intended effect. Celeste’s facial expression tensed.
“I suppose we will need wedding bands, won’t we? But you have enough on your plate.”
“No, I’d be honored. Really.”
“Well, that’s very generous of you. We can talk more about it later. But right now you have a visitor downstairs.”
“A visitor?” Gemma said.
“A very handsome young man.”
Sanjay. Gemma turned off her equipment, mind racing. Of course he couldn’t leave town without seeing her one more time. Dating someone or not, they were friends. Whoever this woman was, the relationship would pass. The fact that he’d shown up made her certain of it.
She took the stairs two at a time, following Celeste down to the store, where she found . . . not Sanjay.
Connor Harrison wore a powder blue T-shirt that brought out his tan and the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. His taut biceps tugged at the sleeves. She couldn’t have been less interested.
“Hey,” she said, glancing uncomfortably back at Celeste.
“I came to see if you were still in town,” he said, smiling.
“I’m working,” she said.
“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Your aunt said you weren’t starting until ten.”
She cast a look at Celeste, who was suddenly very busy behind the counter.
“My own work. I design jewelry,” she said.
“Very cool,” he said. “Family tradition, right?”
Startled, she eyed him with suspicion.
“How do you know about my family?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You mentioned it at the beach.”
She had? She didn’t remember. And if so, it had been a slip. Very unlike her.
“Okay, well . . . I have to get back to it.”
“Definitely. Don’t want to keep you. Just wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight. I have a great view from the widow’s walk.”
“Um, I don’t know . . .”
“It’s just dinner,” he said. “You have to eat, right?”
She didn’t need a man in order to eat, she thought with irritation. But maybe she needed a man to get over another man. Maybe a no-strings summer fling was just what she needed. If she could shape metal to her will, surely she could control her emotions.
“Sure,” she said. “Dinner sounds great.”
Elodie never realized how much time she spent at the office until she found a way to manage her workload outside of it. Somehow, between email and video conferencing, she was keeping all the balls in the air. What had she actually been doing in the office for twelve hours a day?
She adjusted the deck chair and clicked on the PDF invoices sent by her assistant for signature. A few days ago, she’d asked Lidia if she had a printer, prompting her landlady to retrieve a model from the attic that was so old it was practically dot matrix. But it got the job done. Lidia kindly set it up in the kitchen for her because the bedrooms didn’t have enough outlets to accommodate anything more than a reading lamp.
“Marco has a more state-of-the-art printer at his place,” Lidia said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you used his office.” Apparently, Lidia and Manny still managed their boating business with handwritten bookkeeping.
Elodie carried her laptop into the house and plugged it into the printer. (It took two adapters from Lands End Marine Supply to make this possible.) As the machine chug-chugged out her paperwork, her phone rang. Sloan Pierce.
Elodie hesitated but knew she couldn’t send the calls to voicemail forever.
“Sloan, hello,” she said, modulating her voice to sound welcoming—or, at the very least, non-evasive. “I was just about to call you.”
“You’ve been a difficult woman to get ahold of,” Sloan said.
A siren blared in the background and Elodie felt a pang of homesickness for the city. She’d been on this spit of land for weeks and was no closer to having the signatures she needed. Again, she wondered: Why had the three-signature stipulation been put in place? And what else could she do to get them?
She knew her sister wanted to avoid drama at all costs. Always had. But her niece? If her only ask was that ring, which was never going to happen, she had to figure out another angle.
“Are you free for a drink tonight? The Carlyle?”
Elodie looked out the kitchen window at the bay. “I’m not in town at the moment.”
“Oh? Hamptons?”
“No. Cape Cod.”
“I adore Cape Cod. Nantucket?”
“Provincetown, actually.”
“Of course. Where your sister lives.”
Elodie bristled. Did Sloan know about Gemma, too? The thought made her chest tighten.
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I’m back from vacation,” she said.
“Fabulous. In the meantime, let’s get the paperwork wrapped up this week. My PR department is chomping at the bit to announce.”
“It’s in the works,” Elodie said, which was technically true. But by the time she ended the call, she was in a sweat. She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it. With both elbows on the table, she put her head in her hands. She looked up at the sound of a dog barking. It wasn’t Pearl. She turned just as Tito and Bart walked into the room.
“I was hoping I’d find you around,” he said, smiling. “We’re headed to the beach. Care to join?”
Elodie glanced at the printer, her invoices piled in the tray. They could wait, but the ticking clock for the contract could not. She wasn’t in town for the sun and sand. She needed signatures.
“Not today,” she said. The disappointment on his face was surprising, even if he quickly recovered. Well, it wasn’t her problem.
She wasn’t there to make friends, either.