Page 72 of Misadventures of a Biker

“The ring in the window,” Devin said, directing his comment to the middle-aged salesclerk with perfect salt-and-pepper hair. “It looks like an old mine cut. About four carats. Maybe more. Can we see it?”

The suit-wearing salesman smiled at me. “The man knows his diamonds.” He looked at Devin. “You’ve got a keen eye. It is an old mine cut stone. A five-point-two carat center stone, with just over two carats of side stones for a total carat weight of seven-point-two-two carats. The color and clarity are remarkable for an old mine cut.”

“What’s an old mine cut?” I asked.

“It’s the earliest form of brilliant cut, dating back to the early seventeen hundreds,” the salesman replied. “The stones were cut in that fashion to allow them to sparkle in even the dimmest of lights.”

“I see.”

He removed the ring from the display and handed it to me. “This particular piece was obtained through a local family following the downsizing of an estate. We normally don’t carry old mine cuts, as they tend to be lesser clarity and often fail to meet our standards in respect to color.”

“This is a good one, though?” I asked.

He chuckled and then looked at Devin. “VVS1 clarity with a D color and no fluorescence.”

Devin coughed. “Yeah. It’s beyond good.”

I started to slip the ring onto my finger and then paused. “Can I?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

I slid it onto the ring finger of my right hand. I felt six inches taller, invincible, and, strangely, loved.

An instant of admiration followed, and then I pulled it off like it was on fire. I handed it to the salesclerk.

“It is nice,” I said. “Thank you.”

He seemed appalled that I didn’t enjoy it for longer. “Is there anything else you’d like to see?”

“No,” I said, turning away slightly. “We were just on our way to dinner.”

He wiped the smudges from the ring with a cloth. “Where are you dining?”

“Bravo!” I said. “Right next door.”

“Great choice. I love the calamari.”

“Thanks again,” I said.

“Absolutely.” He reached into his pocket and produced a business card. “I’m James.”

“Teddi,” I said. “And Devin.”

He smiled. “Stop in anytime.”

I handed Devin the card and turned toward the door, wishing we hadn’t stopped in. The ring was nothing more than a gorgeous reminder that in time, Devin would be with his motorcycle club, I’d be single once again, and I’d never have such a remarkable diamond on my finger unless I bought it myself.

Devin draped his arm over my shoulder as we stepped through the door. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” I lied. “Just fine.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Devin

Freshly showered and following the lure of frying bacon, I stepped into the kitchen. Wearing a pair of sweats, an old T-shirt, and slippers, Teddi stood in front of the stove, staring into a skillet. Although I wasn’t accustomed to the look, it suited her well.

“You look cute,” I said.