decide?” Jewelers have a sixth sense about love.
“Yes, that would be helpful,” I said. “Thank you.”
I ended the call and looked at Abby. “I couldn’t do it.”
She shrugged. “What?”
“That was the jeweler. I bought Ethan a watch,” I said. “It’s this stupid overpriced watch that he saw somewhere. I was going to give it to him on Father’s Day.” I tugged at my sleeve, feeling the heat from the fireplace in full effect. “They asked me what I wanted the engraving to say, and I totally blanked. I couldn’t think of anything, Abby.”
She opened another packet of sugar and swirled it into her cup. “Can I tell you something?”
“OK.”
“I don’t think he has any interest in Cassandra,” she said. “I think he wants you.”
“He
has
me.” I smirked.
“No, honey, he doesn’t. Not the girl he married. She’s been gone for a long time now, drowning in grief.”
I studied my hands in my lap and the diamond solitaire on my finger. She was right. I was a lemming heading for the cliff, unable to stop myself.
“Listen,” she continued. “Yesterday at the office, I saw something in your eyes I hadn’t seen in a long time. For a moment, you were back again. You were excited about
something
. God, Claire, I haven’t seen you excited about anything for a long time.”
I nodded, feeling a flicker of emotion inside before it fizzled out.
“I think this story, this little boy, is resonating with you,” she continued. She took a sip of her coffee. “What was his name again?”
“Daniel,” I said, staring at the flames in the fireplace. “Daniel Ray.”
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find Dominic standing at the table. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” He set a mug in front of me, topped high with whipped cream. “Thought you’d like your hot chocolate.”
My cheeks burned. I had to be blushing, but I hoped they wouldn’t notice. “Thank you,” I said, gesturing to Abby. “Have you two met?”
He shook his head.
“Abby, Dominic. Dominic, Abby.”
“Nice to meet you,” Abby said, grinning more at me than at him.
Dominic knelt down and put another log in the old fireplace. “I hope it doesn’t get too warm for you,” he said.
“It’s great,” I assured him, slipping off my sweater. I studied the brickwork on the hearth, remembering the tile I’d seen from across the room the day before. I looked at it more closely now. The text read, “Lander’s Pub House.” “That tile,” I said to Dominic, “what does it mean?”
“Oh,” he replied, glancing at the ceramic. “This place used to be a pub—or a saloon; whatever they called those places back then. It survived Prohibition, too.” He pointed to a dent in the floorboards that had apparently escaped repair. “It’s where the town drunkards congregated. The police just sent them over here. It was a rowdy place back in the day. We still have a couple antique beer barrels and a stein or two up in the loft.” He ran his hand along the fireplace, pulling a wedge of loose gray mortar free. “But this,” he continued, “this is special. See the initials here?” He pointed to the edge of the tile, signed “S. W. Ivanoff.” “One of Seattle’s most famous masons. The man did the majority of the decorative hearths in the old Olympic Hotel and other landmarks in the city. A true artisan.Of course, his work was never truly recognized until after his death.”
I pulled out my notebook and scrawled the name down. “Who knows?” I said. “The architecture section might be interested in profiling his work.”
“Well,” Dominic said, the bell on the door alerting us to an incoming customer. I felt a blast of icy air on my cheeks, which tempered the warmth of the blazing fire. “Good to see you again,” he said, looking directly at me.
“You too,” I replied, as he turned and walked back to the bar.
“
Someone
has a little crush on you,” Abby
“Yes, that would be helpful,” I said. “Thank you.”
I ended the call and looked at Abby. “I couldn’t do it.”
She shrugged. “What?”
“That was the jeweler. I bought Ethan a watch,” I said. “It’s this stupid overpriced watch that he saw somewhere. I was going to give it to him on Father’s Day.” I tugged at my sleeve, feeling the heat from the fireplace in full effect. “They asked me what I wanted the engraving to say, and I totally blanked. I couldn’t think of anything, Abby.”
She opened another packet of sugar and swirled it into her cup. “Can I tell you something?”
“OK.”
“I don’t think he has any interest in Cassandra,” she said. “I think he wants you.”
“He
has
me.” I smirked.
“No, honey, he doesn’t. Not the girl he married. She’s been gone for a long time now, drowning in grief.”
I studied my hands in my lap and the diamond solitaire on my finger. She was right. I was a lemming heading for the cliff, unable to stop myself.
“Listen,” she continued. “Yesterday at the office, I saw something in your eyes I hadn’t seen in a long time. For a moment, you were back again. You were excited about
something
. God, Claire, I haven’t seen you excited about anything for a long time.”
I nodded, feeling a flicker of emotion inside before it fizzled out.
“I think this story, this little boy, is resonating with you,” she continued. She took a sip of her coffee. “What was his name again?”
“Daniel,” I said, staring at the flames in the fireplace. “Daniel Ray.”
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find Dominic standing at the table. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” He set a mug in front of me, topped high with whipped cream. “Thought you’d like your hot chocolate.”
My cheeks burned. I had to be blushing, but I hoped they wouldn’t notice. “Thank you,” I said, gesturing to Abby. “Have you two met?”
He shook his head.
“Abby, Dominic. Dominic, Abby.”
“Nice to meet you,” Abby said, grinning more at me than at him.
Dominic knelt down and put another log in the old fireplace. “I hope it doesn’t get too warm for you,” he said.
“It’s great,” I assured him, slipping off my sweater. I studied the brickwork on the hearth, remembering the tile I’d seen from across the room the day before. I looked at it more closely now. The text read, “Lander’s Pub House.” “That tile,” I said to Dominic, “what does it mean?”
“Oh,” he replied, glancing at the ceramic. “This place used to be a pub—or a saloon; whatever they called those places back then. It survived Prohibition, too.” He pointed to a dent in the floorboards that had apparently escaped repair. “It’s where the town drunkards congregated. The police just sent them over here. It was a rowdy place back in the day. We still have a couple antique beer barrels and a stein or two up in the loft.” He ran his hand along the fireplace, pulling a wedge of loose gray mortar free. “But this,” he continued, “this is special. See the initials here?” He pointed to the edge of the tile, signed “S. W. Ivanoff.” “One of Seattle’s most famous masons. The man did the majority of the decorative hearths in the old Olympic Hotel and other landmarks in the city. A true artisan.Of course, his work was never truly recognized until after his death.”
I pulled out my notebook and scrawled the name down. “Who knows?” I said. “The architecture section might be interested in profiling his work.”
“Well,” Dominic said, the bell on the door alerting us to an incoming customer. I felt a blast of icy air on my cheeks, which tempered the warmth of the blazing fire. “Good to see you again,” he said, looking directly at me.
“You too,” I replied, as he turned and walked back to the bar.
“
Someone
has a little crush on you,” Abby
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