5. Ember #2
The old man used gnarled hands to rearrange some paperwork and receipts on the counter, shooting the two of us a quick, vicious glare.
This was not a kindly old man. He had clearly been dragged through the mud by life and now had only bitterness to keep him going.
Immediately I didn’t like him, but we were here for a reason.
Jack was undeterred by the obvious hostility. He gave Ivan his full blast of charisma-in-a-smile. “How’s Sofia doing these days? Still working at that salon in the city?”
“Keep my daughter’s name out of your mouth,” Ivan snapped. “You lost the right to speak about her when you tossed her aside like a used napkin.”
Jack blinked. I froze. Yet another conquest, was it? I tried to pretend my chest wasn’t caving in, and then Jack took a deep breath. “Ivan, Sofia and I dated for a month nearly eight years ago. I’m sure she hasn’t thought about me in a long time.”
None of my business, none of my business, none of my business… I chanted the words in my head on a never-ending loop.
Ivan scowled. His eyes were granite as they bored into Jack’s face, wrinkly lips pursed so tight they were white around the edges. Then he visibly relaxed and nodded once. “She’s my little girl,” the old man said. “You understand.”
The tension drained out of the room, and Ivan looked at us expectantly.
“We’d like to look at your ring selection,” Jack said, gesturing to the velvet tray holding a number of rings displayed inside the locked cabinet. “My wife and I got married without the usual hardware, and we thought it would be in keeping with the spirit of our union to buy local.”
That was a statement which could be interpreted multiple ways, I noted.
The “spirit of our union” could be the revival of this quaint but ragged town.
Or it could be the goal of being seen as often as possible around town in order to fake our way to an official wedding certificate and a bigger bank account.
And yes, I felt a thrill when he called me his wife. A ridiculous, electric thrill that made everything south of my shoulders spasm. It was annoying.
Ivan’s scowl deepened, but the man was not stupid. He pulled out the tray of rings and leaned his hands against the metal edge of the glass case, watching us study his wares.
I was surprised to see a beautiful collection of rings.
My eye was immediately drawn to a cluster ring with a round stone in the center and about ten stones surrounding it.
I couldn’t help the urge to pluck it from the velvet tray and watch how the light played over the diamonds.
It was delicate without being too dainty, the gold a buttery yellow that looked almost edible.
My heart squeezed. If I were a real bride and this a real marriage, I would choose this ring.
I would allow myself this one vanity, this one ridiculous extravagance, because a real marriage would deserve something special.
But this wasn’t a real marriage, and I was, by nature, a sensible woman.
I was not the type of woman who wore jewelry like this.
I was practical. All we needed were simple wedding bands to make a show of it.
With not a small amount of reluctance, I returned the ring to its velvet slot and chose a simple gold band.
Jack, in the meantime, had found a ring that fit him in the men’s tray. He presented it to me and waggled his brows. “Would you like to do the honors, wifey?”
“I’d like to grab one of those decorative forks and stab your arm,” I said, nodding to one of the silver forks displayed in the cabinet by my thighs.
Jack laughed. I watched the way his throat moved, the way the dim light caught the angles of his face, the way his eyes crinkled as he looked down at me and shook his head.
I couldn’t help it; he was a beautiful man.
Taking the ring from his fingers, I slid it onto the third finger of his left hand.
I thought I caught a tightness in his throat—a slight hesitation—but he flexed his hand and shrugged.
“Fits,” he said, and then he reached for the gold band I’d chosen.
I was not as nonchalant as my temporary husband. When he held my hand with a gentle grip, I fought to keep my breath steady. The ring passed over my nail and down my finger, and it felt substantial. Meaningful. Real.
But it wasn’t real. It was so far from real, it wasn’t even funny. The dull, scratched ring stared back at me from my left hand, and I couldn’t help the urge to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“That works,” I said, my eyes on the ring. The symbol of unity and commitment. The little loop of jewelry that I had no right to wear.
Jack still held my hand. His thumb came up to stroke the gold, and I found my gaze flicking up to meet his.
He gave my hand a slight squeeze, then turned to the scowling old man behind the desk.
We paid for our purchases and walked back out into the slanting fall sunshine.
My gaze caught on my ring again, watching the way the sun glinted on it, wondering if I’d ever get to wear one for real.
Silly, nonsensical thoughts. I wasn’t myself when I was in this town.
“This way,” Jack murmured, tangling his fingers with mine once again. We walked downhill, toward the water. When we passed the burned building, I smelled ash and smoke.
“Jack! And you must be Ember!” A tall, busty, elderly redheaded woman smiled at us as she exited a nearby bakery/coffee shop called Knead More Bread.
“Ida,” Jack said, nodding at the woman. “Ember, this is Ida Gretzinger. She owns a restaurant called The Pier down by the water.”
“You must come for dinner this week,” she told us. “Your brother left his wife to wander around on her own for weeks. You won’t do that, will you, Jack?”
“Not me,” Jack replied, grinning as he squeezed my hand and pulled me closer. He slung his arm around my shoulders and held me while I stood there like a terrified, frozen hostage. He was so big. And warm. And male. “We’ll be attached at the hip, the way we’re supposed to be.”
“Good,” the woman said, then looked me over. She smiled. “Etta did well with Gideon and Sadie. You won’t disappoint us, will you?”
“I’ll try not to,” I lied.
“You make a beautiful couple. Bye-bye now!” She waved and climbed into a nearby car, and the two of us turned toward the bakery. Jack opened the door for me, and the smell of fresh baking and espresso made everything a little better.
But as soon as we stepped inside, the dark-haired woman behind the counter pointed at the door behind us and bellowed, “OUT!”
All eyes turned to the two of us. There were about a dozen people in the café, at tables and in line. Most of them were above the age of sixty, but there were two or three who were younger.
Jack spread his palms. “Come on, Caroline.”
“I mean it,” she said. “You’re not welcome in my establishment.”
“I’m trying to show Ember around town.”
Caroline’s eyes slid over to me. “The Marses are not welcome in here,” she explained. “My apologies, but you need to leave.”
I turned to Jack. “Should I be keeping track of all of these jilted lovers in a spreadsheet, or something?”
His gaze was flat and unimpressed. “You’ve got jokes,” he said. “That’s unexpected.”
“I do enjoy all the clever ways you find to insult me.”
A sharp, dangerous smile curved his lips. Then he murmured, “Caroline and I were never lovers, by the way.”
That shouldn’t have made me relax as much as it did.
“Chop-chop, people! I don’t want you polluting my fine establishment.”
I glanced up at Caroline, waved, and turned, but Jack stopped me. He hauled us both forward and said, “Come on, Caroline. You let Gideon and Sadie eat and drink in here.”
“Gideon was romantic, and Sadie is awesome. You haven’t got a romantic bone in your body”—she lifted a hand—“no, I won’t hear whatever lewd joke is on the tip of your tongue. Your new wife might be awesome, but I’m not prepared to take the risk. One Mars is more than enough.”
“The coffee at Harbor Coffee is awful.”
“Not my problem.” Caroline aggressively wiped the counter with a cloth and refused to meet our gazes.
“Jack, let’s just go. She won’t serve us. It’s fine.”
“Listen to your wife, Jack. She’s clever.” Caroline tossed the cloth away and folded her arms. “Not clever enough to run away screaming when presented with the prospect of marrying you, but hey.”