Read Online Caught Up in Us by Lauren Blakely - Free Book Online

ear and said the only thing I
could think of. The thing I was clinging to. “But I’m totally in
love with you, Bryan. One hundred percent and then some. And I want
to be with you.”
    Then I waited, and I waited, and I
waited.
    Words didn’t come.
    The silence choked me. It was as
if hands were on my neck, gripping me.
    How could I have misread him so
badly? He’d said he was falling for me. Where else do you fall but
in love?
    Then he spoke, and his words were
sharp glass. “I have to go.”
    Breaking the clasp in a single,
fierce pull, I ripped off the necklace, then tossed it into the
trash, stuffing it at the bottom of the can.
    That was the last time I spoke to
him.
    Even now, five
years later, those words rang through me. I could hear them, the
pause before he spoke, the shape of each and every syllable. I have to go .
    That’s exactly what he did. He
left.

 
    Chapter Nine
     
     
    The factory was loud and busy.
Machines whirred, conveyor belts hummed, parts rattled and people
chatted. Bryan gave me the guided tour of the whole operation,
stopping along the way to talk with his employees, from the
managers who ran the facilities to some of the men and women at the
end of the line who worked like master jewelers with loupes,
carefully and painstakingly putting the finishing touches on pair
after pair of fine platinum and pewter and silver cufflinks for the
line called Sleek. Made Here also created cufflinks from recycled
materials including old watches and bike chains that had a
deliberately worn and purposefully tarnished look for the Scuff
line. The factory had once made lugnuts for hubcaps. With his
expertise in engineering and his vision for solving problems in
unconventional ways, Bryan had retrofitted the former auto parts
factory for Made Here’s goods, and the result was a mixture of
automation and craftsmanship.
    “You know what I really want most
for the recycled line?”
    “What would that be?”
    “The lover’s bridge in
Paris.”
    “Just take the whole bridge and
chop it up?”
    He laughed. “No. The padlocks,” he
said, referring to the locks that hung on of one of the bridges
arcing over the Seine. Lovers wrote their names on locks, hooked
them to the links and tossed the keys in the river as a promise. It
was a popular spot for locals and tourists and the net effect was
every year the old locks had to be cut and tossed away to make room
for new proclamations of the heart. “I’ve been trying to work with
the city of Paris for years. To find a way to buy the used locks
from them — the ones they have to cut off every year. But, French
bureaucracy is, well, French bureaucracy.”
    My eyes lit up, and for one of the
first times with him in this go-round, I spoke from the heart.
“That would be amazing, though. What a perfect gift. A pair of
cufflinks made from padlocks on the lover’s bridge.”
    “Right? Wouldn’t it be? And it’s
not as if the city cuts the locks because the couples broke up.
They only throw them out because they need room for more. So what
if I could take those off their hands and turn them into
something?”
    “Do you think it’ll
happen?”
    “I’ve made some headway. But it’s
a project I can’t delegate. I’m the only one at the company who’s
fluent enough to converse with French civil workers.”
    “Well, if you need any help, you
know where to find me. But I should let you know, I charge extra
for my translation services.”
    That earned a brief smile. “Let me
show you more.” He pointed to the machines that moved the parts
along in a precision-timed fashion. “That’s how we can turn out
product quickly and on time by keeping the process moving,” he
said, then we stopped at a section of the factory floor where
workers took their time handling the materials to turn them into
the beginnings of new shapes and sizes.
    One of the guys who was assembling
parts from used bike chains gave Bryan a quick nod.
    “Hey Joe,” Bryan said.
    “Hey Boss