She hesitated before answering, like she wasn’t sure why I’d possibly be interested in this. Or like she didn’t want me to be interested? “Well, when I was twelve, my grandma died. My sister and I inherited some of her jewelry. I took it all apart and remade it into new pieces. I think that was where it started.”
“Your parents were cool with that?”
She smiled a little. “My mom was impressed, actually. It was her mom’s jewelry, but she wasn’t sentimental about it. She figured the jewelry, I don’t know,wantedto be remade. She’s kind of… kooky like that.”
“You sell that stuff anywhere?”
“Some of it.”
“In stores?”
“No, just to people who want to buy it. Daniella helps me with that. Like I told you, I’m not much of a saleswoman. And I don’t really want my jewelry in stores.”
“Why not?”
“Because then it would be an actual business and I’d have orders to fulfill. Too many orders, and I wouldn’t be able to fill them myself. I don’t want to hire staff or have to outsource all the work. I just like making jewelry.” She shrugged again. “I make custom pieces for my sister’s photo shoots sometimes. She’s a fashion stylist. And sometimes I make pieces for brides. Just whatever comes along.”
“You enjoy it?”
“I love it.”
“What do you love about it?” I probed.
She hesitated again. Definitely uncomfortable that I was asking her so many questions—about her. “Um… I love coming up with a new design in my head, and planning it out and searching for just the right elements. I like working with my hands, making something tangible and beautiful. I like the looks on people’s faces when they see the finished pieces or put them on. I give a lot of what I make away as gifts, actually.”
I wasn’t exactly surprised to hear that. This was the first time I’d met with her that she didn’t bringmea gift.
“That reminds me,” she said, digging kinda awkwardly in her purse. “I brought you something.”
And there it was.
“You and the gifts,” I said, shaking my head. I was half-teasing, but then she pulled out a little black silk bag, the size of her palm, with a gold drawstring. It did look like a gift.
And definitely not a lemon wedge or a candle.
She handed it to me. I took it, slowly, and when her fingers brushed mine… it rippled right through me. My nipples hardened. My dick twitched. The girl gave me goosebumps—the really fucking good kind.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” she said as I opened the drawstring. I could feel a small, hard object in the bottom of the bag, and I tipped it out into my hand.
It was a ring.
“It’s a ring,” she said.
“I see that.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she said quickly, but her cheeks were rapidly turning pink. No, make that flaming red.
I looked at the ring sitting in the palm of my hand. It was a men’s ring, a thick chunk of silver metal with cool geometric designs carved into it and a big, flat black stone.
I looked at her. “You just gave me a ring?”
“I didn’t make it,” she said, the blush spreading outward from her cheeks. “It’s Art Deco. 1920s.”
Was she for real?
“So, it’s an antique?”
