55
Sorry I’m late!” Celeste said, running up Commercial and waving to Jack. He waited at the fence bordering Suzanne’s Garden, their mutually agreed meeting time having passed about ten minutes ago. “I took Gemma to an estate sale.”
“I thought we agreed we weren’t buying any more for the season?”
“Gemma wanted to look for jewelry.” She would break the news about the chest later. First things first. “But I did acquire one thing: another houseguest. Lidia rented out the room Elodie’s staying in and she doesn’t have anywhere else to go in town, so I offered her the second bedroom upstairs.”
He smiled. “Celeste, I’m proud of you.”
They walked past the gate into the garden. It was relatively empty considering how many people were in town. The flowers were a riot of color, peak bloom. Jack reached for her hand and they followed the white-shell path to the center of the gardens and ducked into the arbor. She sat on the stone bench while Jack stood in the center and looked around.
“This could really work, don’t you think? Clifford could stand right here, and there’s enough room for my best man and your matron of honor. We put some folding chairs right over there . . .”
It was a perfect spot. And he was her perfect man.
“So? What do you think?”
Celeste stood up and walked a few paces to stand next to him.
She looked down at the red bricks at her feet, the foundation of the pergola. And there, a stone inscribed with a French quote by Jean de la Fontaine: Patience and time do more than strength or passion.
She’d seen the words countless times before, and for the first time, she realized a word was missing: faith. That was all she could do—take a leap.
She reached for Jack’s hand. “I think this is a perfect spot for our wedding. I love you.”
He leaned forward and kissed her.
The cursed diamond had been sold. She and her sister were back on good terms. And Paulina’s daughter was back in her life. She would ride the wave of positive momentum.
It was in the stars.
The more she thought about it, the more Connor’s comment about buying Maud’s house felt like a red flag. It bothered Gemma perhaps past the point of reason. Maybe it was a misunderstanding—a miscommunication. She wanted to clear it up by talking to Connor, but he was at the gallery and didn’t like when she visited him there. Which, now that she thought about it, was another red flag: Weeks ago, when they first started to get to know each other, Connor asked Gemma—in the nicest way possible—not to visit him at work.
“You’re just too distracting,” he’d said, kissing her.
“Oh, come on,” she’d said, certain he was teasing her.
Today, she didn’t care. She marched right in.
A pair of men wearing chunky glasses stood near the entrance, gazing up at a bright painting that took up most of one wall. The space was small—she could take it all in with one sweeping glance. She spotted Connor standing behind a small, modernist white desk near the back. He was talking on his cell phone but extricated himself from the call as soon as he noticed her.
He crossed the room with his long strides. “Hey, babe,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Listen, now’s not a great time . . .”
“I need to talk to you for a minute.”
He seemed about to protest, took another look at her expression, and reconsidered.
“Sure. But I’m expecting an important client I have to deal with, so if she walks in . . . we’ll pick up whatever this is tonight.”
“You told me you made an offer on the house you’re in, right?”
Connor nodded and crossed his arms. “Yep. That’s right.”
“Did the owner respond?”
“Why? Did you see another house you want to show me?” He grinned. “Because if you see something else you like, I could switch gears. As long as you promise to be spending a lot of time with me there.” He looped his arm around her waist.
“No, Connor. I’m serious. I know that house isn’t for sale.”
“Oh?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“Yeah. My aunt’s friend owns it. She said it’s not for sale.”
Connor’s expression clouded. “Well, that pisses me off,” he said. “My broker must be stringing me along. You know what? I bet he’s keeping me on the line and is going to try to switch me over to another property. Thanks for letting me know.” Connor kissed the top of her head and took her by the hand, leading her toward the front door.
“One more thing,” she said. “I’m going to New York next week. So I guess I’ll just touch base when I’m back in town.”
Connor glanced between her and the front door, maybe checking for his client.
“Come over for dinner Friday night? I don’t want to wait until you’re back from New York to see you.”
“Okay,” she said, still feeling like something was off.
An older woman walked in, expensively dressed, extremely thin with silvery blond hair in a knot at the back of her neck. She looked to be in her sixties—it was hard to tell with wealthy women who did tons of skin maintenance. Sometimes they overdid it and actually looked older than their age. She also wore serious jewelry: a large pearl necklace, a gold coin pendant, and a ruby ring that had to be at least five carats.
This made her think, horribly, about who might be wearing the Electric Rose.
“My client,” he said quietly. “Gotta go—but we’re on for Friday night.”
He didn’t kiss her goodbye. He was essentially shoving her out the door, but she tried not to feel rebuffed. He’d explained the house issue. He’d invited her for dinner.
No need to look for trouble.