No wonder high schoolers all over the nation cut class every day.
The sun came out from behind the clouds as Brighton crossed the state line and left New Jersey for Delaware. She slid on her sunglasses and rolled down her window, glorying in the damp breeze. She had a hastily packed overnight bag in the backseat, a box of protein bars in the glove compartment, and plans to meet one of her oldest friends at some bar called the Whinery. So simple, but so gratifying.
Soon, she could smell the salty tang of the Atlantic in the air. While she navigated the stop-and-go traffic in her white Subaru (white cars were ten percent less likely to get into accidents than cars of other colors), she kept her phone in the cup holder beneath the radio.
The silence of that phone not ringing was deafening.
Brighton forced herself to stop obsessing about that morning’s fight and start focusing on her upcoming reunion with Kira. Her friend sounded exactly the same as she had back in college—still sweet, still smart, and still unable to turn away from anyone in need. The warm, bubbly blonde had gone from being everyone’s friend and confidante to beloved dormitory resident assistant to clinical psychologist. Brighton couldn’t wait to hear all the news and reminisce about the old days. A break in routine would be good for her. This little weekend jaunt was indisputable proof that she was capable of spontaneity and surprises.
In your face, Colin.
As soon as she saw the white clapboard sign painted with the black silhouette of a Labrador retriever and the words WELCOME TO BLACK DOG BAY, Brighton’s whole body relaxed. Traffic cleared up, sunlight sparkled on the ocean, and she located the wine bar with no problem.
Since she still had an hour before she was supposed to meet Kira, Brighton decided to explore the charming little town square. A weathered bronze statue of a shaggy dog stood next to a white gazebo, beyond which the boardwalk stretched out to the sea. As she started toward the sand, she noticed that the local restaurants and shops seemed to adhere to a common theme: the Eat Your Heart Out bakery, the Retail Therapy boutique, the Rebound Salon, the Jilted Café.
All the passersby were dressed for the beach in denim and flip-flops. Brighton knew she looked completely out of place in her buttoned-up cubicle couture, but she didn’t care—she’d spotted a store window featuring a display of glittering gems. The little wooden sign above the door read: THE NAKED FINGER.
She opened the door and stepped into a small, quiet showroom featuring ice blue walls, discreet but strategically angled lighting that brought out the sparkle in each gemstone, and a young proprietor with warm brown eyes, glossy dark hair, and a vintage-looking silk floral shirtdress.
“Hi, I’m Lila.” The brunette greeted Brighton with a smile. “Did Marla send you?”
“No.” Brighton shook her head. “I’m not sure who that is.”
“Oh, sorry. You just had that look.”
Brighton blinked. “What look?”
Now Lila started to look flustered. “Nothing. Sorry.”
“No, tell me. Who’s Marla? What look?” It was so unusual for anyone to describe Brighton as anything other than “professional,” “practical,” or “smart” that she was dying to know what this total stranger saw in her.
“Marla owns the Better Off Bed-and-Breakfast,” Lila explained. “She refers her guests to me all the time.”
Brighton had to laugh. “The Better Off Bed-and-Breakfast? The Rebound Salon and the Jilted Café? What’s going on with this town?”
“Last year, there was a national news story that said Black Dog Bay is the best place in America to get over your breakup. So we get a lot of recently single visitors. We call them heartbreak tourists.”
Brighton started to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Hence, the Naked Finger.”
“Right. I deal with all the wedding rings and other jewelry that women don’t want or have to sell after a breakup. I just started the business a few months ago.”
Brighton peered at the pieces beneath the glass countertops. Bracelets and pendants and watches and oh so many diamond rings. “How’s it going?”
“Great.” Lila beamed. “Better than I expected, actually. I’ve been in sales for a long time, but it never ceases to amaze me how much money people are willing to spend on clothes and accessories.”
“But jewelry’s more than an accessory.” Brighton studied a pair of art deco emerald earrings. “It’s very emotional.”
Lila nodded. “That’s true. Every piece in here has a history. Some clients want to tell me the stories, some don’t want to talk about it at all.” She pointed out the box of tissues by the cash register. “Either way, I try to be supportive.”
“So you buy the pieces and resell them?” Brighton asked.
“Well, I try to convince clients to reuse the stones in a new setting, but sometimes they don’t want to. Sometimes, a client just wants to be rid of them, which I get. Been there myself.”
“You have?” Brighton regarded the proprietor with renewed interest. Lila looked so polished and perfect, it was easy to assume she’d never had to endure heartbreak or disappointment.
“I sold my own wedding rings, once upon a time.” Lila glanced down at her left hand. “That’s when I found out that jewelry doesn’t hold its retail value. It’s kind of like a new car; once you drive it off the lot—”
“Wait. Is this what I think it is?” Brighton spied a heavy silver ring on the counter, and she couldn’t stop herself from interrupting.
Lila picked up the ring and handed it over. “You tell me. I’ve never seen anything like this before. A heartbreak tourist dropped this off this morning and I’ve been trying to figure out what it should appraise for.”
Brighton held the massive ring aloft so she could examine it from all sides. Although the silver shank was sized for petite hands, the prongs were wide and sturdy. They had to be to support the red stone skull and the green, blue, and purple cabochons. This was a badass rock star of a ring, a ring that demanded brazen confidence from its wearer.
She admired the craftsmanship but didn’t try it on.
“The owner is staying at Marla’s,” Lila went on. “She said her ex-boyfriend gave it to her and she needs to get rid of it before she uses it for evil.”
Brighton started to smile as she examined the sides of the setting. “That’s what she said?”
“Those were her exact words. She insisted I keep it overnight in the safe. I’ve been trying to figure out how old it is and what I should offer for it.”
Brighton felt a small surge of triumph as she located a pair of narrow silver hinges. She ran her fingernail along the side of the sneering red skull until she felt a tiny clasp give way. “This is a poison ring. I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
Lila looked alarmed. “A poison ring?”
“Check it out.” Brighton lifted one edge of the red skull, revealing a shallow silver compartment beneath. “These were all the rage back in the sixteenth century. You could put poison in here and use it to kill your enemy or yourself.”
Lila looked horrified. “Really?”
“Really.” Brighton marveled at the craftsmanship of the piece. “That’s what the owner meant when she said she didn’t want to use it for evil.”
Lila gazed at her with renewed interest. “How do you know all that? Are you a jeweler?”
“No, I’m in insurance.”
“You deal with poison rings in insurance?” Those big brown eyes had gone from sweet to speculative.
“My grandfather was a bench jeweler. He did it all: stone setting, engraving, wax carving, forging, polishing. I used to help him when I was a teenager.” Brighton closed her eyes for a moment, flooded with feelings she couldn’t quite label. And didn’t want to. “Once upon a time, I wanted to be a jewelry designer.” She opened her eyes. “Back before I understood that being a responsible adult requires health benefits and retirement plans and mortgage payments.”
Lila stepped back, sizing her up. “But you’re not a heartbreak tourist?”
“No, I have a fiancé.” Brighton tucked her hand into her pocket. “I’m just visiting a friend from college.”
Lila continued to look her over with that appraising, acquisitive gleam. “Do you have any interest in staying for the summer season? I’ve been looking for a designer to coordinate with my bench jeweler.”
“I’m only here for the weekend, and then it’s back to reality. Sorry.” Brighton turned toward the door. “I should get going so I’m not late to meet my friend.”
“Where are you meeting her?”
“The Whinery.”
“What a coincidence—I’m headed that way, too. I’ll walk with you.” Lila grabbed a fifties-style black leather handbag from beneath the counter. “What’s your name?”
“Brighton.” In an effort to head off the inevitable questions, she explained, “As in Brighton Beach. The one in Brooklyn, not Britain. My mom had a thing for New York in the eighties.”
Lila laughed. “So did mine. Welcome to Black Dog Bay, Brighton. Here’s hoping you’ll decide to stay for a bit.”
“It seems like a lovely town, but I really can’t. I have to be back to my office on Monday—places to go, people to see, reports to write, accounting rules to research.” She paused. “I swear it’s not as dull as it sounds.” It’s duller. “But in any event, I have to get back.”
Lila gave her a knowing smile as she flipped the sign on the glass door from OPEN to CLOSED. “That’s what they all say in the beginning.”
• • •
“Look at him. Who is that?”
As Brighton followed Lila into the crowded bar, she heard a trio of women laughing and murmuring.
During their phone conversation, Kira had described the Whinery as “a cute little spot to people watch.” She had neglected to mention the profusion of pink, toile, and crystal chandeliers. There were silver bowls of chocolate candy dotting the glossy black bar top and a curly-haired female bartender pouring fruity cocktails. Everything in there appeared sugarcoated and sweet . . . except the clientele, who were less interested in the wine list and more interested in verbally undressing one of the male patrons.
“That’s the man I’ve been looking for all my life,” one woman declared. “Or at least for this weekend.”
The guy on the other side of the bar was impossible to miss. Tall and broad shouldered, he radiated masculinity amid all the pastel frippery. He was so handsome he looked like he should be shirtless on the cover of a romance novel, all strong jawline and smoldering dark eyes and tousled dark hair. But good looks alone couldn’t account for all the attention he was receiving. He exuded a confidence and charm that could not be denied, that forced you to notice him.
And then he turned to face them and the trio of women in front of Brighton practically swooned. They snatched up their wineglasses and started toward him, fluffing their hair and swaying their hips. It was like the guy had switched on a tractor beam. The Death Star in jeans and a worn leather jacket.
As soon as the first trio left, another trio materialized to continue the fangirling:
“Look at his face.”
“Look at his eyes.”
“Look at his hair.”
“Look at his watch.” Brighton squinted, trying to discern the details in the dim lighting. “Is that . . . ?”
“That is Jake Sorensen.” Lila waved to the bartender, who slammed down her stainless steel cocktail shaker and motioned them closer. “Designated rebound guy for all the newly single women.”
Brighton couldn’t take her eyes off the designated rebound guy’s wrist. “Incredible.”
“Pretty much,” Lila agreed. “He’s filthy rich, he’s charming as all get out, and he looks . . . well, he looks like that. Although he’s usually smiling, which makes him look even better, if you can believe it.” She shot a sidelong glance at Brighton. “You’re not hyperventilating and dissolving into a puddle of lust? Way to buck the trend.”
“What?” Brighton was still staring at his wrist. “Oh. Yeah, I don’t really go for tall, dark, and handsome. I prefer well-read, low-key, and loyal. I’m boring like that. And also engaged.” I think. I hope.
“Me, too.” Lila clapped her hand over her mouth. “Well, not yet. Not officially. But soon.”
“Good for you. You shouldn’t rush these things,” Brighton murmured. Why didn’t more people understand that? “Patience is a virtue.”
“It’s not really so much about patience; it’s more about our insane work schedules. I’ve been busy getting the Naked Finger up and running and my boyfriend, Malcolm, works with Jake. Speaking of which, brace yourself.” Lila rolled her eyes like an exasperated but indulgent older sister as Jake Sorensen strode toward them. “He’s headed this way.”
Some of the women who had been eyeing Jake started glaring at Brighton and Lila. Lila seemed oblivious, but Brighton wasn’t used to being the object of anyone’s envy or hostility. Blending into the background was more her deal. She studied the drink specials on the chalkboard above the bar until Lila made the official introductions:
“Jake Sorensen, this is Brighton Smith. She just arrived for a weekend visit.”
Base, carnal desire surged through Brighton, shocking in its immediacy and intensity. One second she was reading about champagne cocktails; the next second she was struggling to keep her hands to herself. She hadn’t even made eye contact yet and she wanted to peel his shirt off.
Then for God’s sake, don’t make eye contact.
“Hi.” She jerked her chin in a kind of a side-nod and kept her gaze focused on his wrist. “Is that a 1950s Patek Philippe?”
“It’s 1953.” He lifted his wrist so she could inspect the watch. What had once been a flawless Swiss timepiece had become nearly unrecognizable with age and neglect. The brown leather band was cracked and scarred. The stainless steel lug and case had blackened. The crystal covering the dial was cloudy and scratched so badly, she couldn’t read the manufacturer’s name. But she appreciated quality when she saw it. “How’d you know?”
“The lugs.” She pointed with her index finger but didn’t trust herself to touch. “They’re extended and curved downward. That’s really rare. They only made that design in the late forties and early fifties.”
“I would have figured you for a Rolex guy,” Lila chimed in, cheery and chipper and apparently oblivious to the pheromones. “That watch is . . . underwhelming.”
“Just had a meeting with my financial advisers.” Jake was speaking to Lila but focused on Brighton, who didn’t dare look up. “They’re all about understatement. Except when they’re swilling my forty-year-old scotch.”
“Sounds like a fun day.” Lila’s tone softened. “Is that why you look stressed?”
Brighton was still hunched over his hand, but she could feel his gaze on her head. She noticed the tan of his skin and the smell of his leather jacket, and the Death Star tractor beam almost kicked in.
Almost.
She straightened up, took a step back, and stared over his shoulder at the glittering crystal chandelier.
He stepped forward, closing the distance she’d just created. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Oh, nothing, thanks. I don’t really drink.” She forced herself to pretend that his face was a solar eclipse. One glance and you’ll burn your retinas.
“That’s too bad,” Lila said. “They have some really great cocktails here. There’s one with champagne and fresh orange juice and vermouth—”
“You’re an antique watch expert who doesn’t drink.” Jake shifted his body so his arm was less than an inch from hers. If she relaxed for even a second, they’d be touching.
Brighton tensed up. “That’s right. I like Swiss precision and I don’t like to lose my self-control.” Halfway through the sentence, her vigilance lapsed. She looked at his face.
“Good to know.” He finally smiled, slow and wicked, and she tingled in places she didn’t know she could tingle. She suddenly felt alluring and aglow, and she wanted more of that feeling. More of him.
“Hey.” Lila wedged herself in between them and leveled her index finger at Jake. “Don’t start with her.”
He seemed to take this admonishment as a personal challenge. “Why not?”
Lila looked at Brighton, who couldn’t dredge up any kind of verbal response. Her brain had shut down. Her good sense had deserted her. Her hormones, however, were very much present and accounted for.
“Because she’s too good for you, that’s why,” Lila informed him.
His dark eyes flickered. For a fraction of a second, something surfaced behind all that seduction and calculated charisma. It happened so quickly that Brighton almost missed it, but she felt a pulse of emotion pass through her like a heartbeat.
She looked down at her naked fingers. When she glanced back up, he had sidled into the perimeter of her personal space again. He didn’t make any move to touch her; he didn’t try to engage her in conversation. But he was looking at her as if he could see right through the pearl necklace and silk blouse and wool suiting.
“I’m serious.” Lila swatted him on the shoulder. “Go pick up one of those women over there. They’re dying to be picked up, and I know you know it.”
He gave Lila the same eye-rolling routine she’d given him earlier. “Don’t tell me what to do, Alders. I’m buying. What’re you drinking?”
“Oh, nothing, I’m fine. I’m about to drive home.” Lila couldn’t suppress a girlish little smile. “Takeout and a movie with Malcolm.”
Jake signaled to the bartender. “Throw a bottle of Sea Smoke in a bag, Jenna. The pinot noir. Thanks.”
The bartender batted her eyelashes and hastened to do his bidding.
Lila shook her head. “Jake, you don’t have to do that.”
“Here.” The designated rebound guy of Black Dog Bay handed the bartender a credit card and passed the bottle to Lila. “Enjoy your date night.”
“That’s really fancy wine.” Lila’s expression was part amused, part dismayed. “You can’t just—”
“It’s not for you; it’s for Malcolm. I made him work twelve-hour days all week.”
At this, Lila turned a bit salty. “Yes, I noticed.”
“Then you know he earned it.” He took Lila’s elbow and steered her toward the door. “You have a hot date to get to.”
“But—”
“Bye.” He escorted her out to the sidewalk, then returned to Brighton by the bar. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”
Suddenly, she did. She wanted a drink and so much more. But she couldn’t have it. She was a smart, levelheaded, and engaged woman.
To remind herself of this fact, she reached up and touched her tasteful pearl earrings. “No, thank you.”
He looked at her for a long minute. Then he glanced down at the watch that was practically rotting away on his wrist. “Anything you want. Pick your poison.”
“No.” Her voice came out very prim and proper.
He accepted her curt refusal with a nod, then turned away from her. The music changed from Ben Folds Five’s “Song for the Dumped” to Sara Bareilles’s “Gonna Get Over You,” and the front door swung open.
“Brighton!” A woman waved and started across the room.
Kira. Thank God. Brighton rushed to greet her friend.
“Ooh, look at you in your fancy suit, Miss Corner Office. You’re positively glowing!” Kira held Brighton at arm’s length before engulfing her in a hug. “You must be in love.”
Brighton hugged back. “Right in the middle of planning a wedding, actually.”
“I knew it!” Kira squeezed Brighton again. “I need to hear everything. Who he is, how you met, when you knew he was the one.”
And just like that, they were back in sync. It felt as if no time had passed, no distance had separated them. They picked up right where’d they left off years before. A little spark of hope kindled in Brighton’s heart, and this time, when she told herself that everything would work out, she actually believed it.
Relationships are resilient. Love can endure.
Kira seemed to sense the sudden shift in her mood. “You all right?”
“Mm-hmm.” Brighton tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let’s get a table.”
That’s when Kira noticed Jake Sorensen. “Ooh, look at that guy. Let’s sit by him.”
“Let’s not.” Brighton spotted an empty table on the opposite side of the bar. “Follow me.”