now. I’ve moved on, Don. So have you, I’m sure.”
He’d always been Don to her; charismatic, showering everyone in his life with laughter and happiness, always fun, totally irresistible.
And then he’d left.
“I’m sure you agree that leaving was the right thing to do, but I should have talked to you first. My only excuse is I was upset.”
The right thing to do?
“Upset by what?” Confusion filled her. “Proposing?”
“No.” He studied her intently. “Have you forgotten everything about that night, Abby?”
“I’ve tried,” she said, meeting his stare. “It wasn’t the best time of my life.”
“Nor mine.” Something lay hidden in those words. Something Donovan evidently decided not to clarify because after a moment of further scrutiny, he shrugged, stepped closer and brushed the edge of her creation with one fingertip. “Is this a special order?”
“A private commission.” She studied the setting with a critical eye. Not her best yet, but better. “It’s an idea for a project, actually.”
Donovan nodded as if he’d expected that answer.
“What’s the project?”
Abby didn’t want to share her dream with him. But this awkwardness between them had to end. Weddings by Woodwards was a tight-knit family company that offered everything a bride and groom could need. Winifred Woodward expected her employees to get along.
“Is it a secret?”
“No.” Abby strove for a bland tone, ignoring her inner discomfort. “It’s for a contest in New York. Jewelry designers can submit fine designs. Well known designers will judge. It’s great exposure and a chance to get my designs into New York. Entries close in two weeks.” She bit her lip, then admitted the rest. “I haven’t yet settled on the complete design.”
“As I remember, you always had plans to go to New York.”
With him. She’d thought they’d shared that dream.
“So what’s holding you back?” Donovan leaned one hip against the counter and waited for her explanation.
“Time. My parents recently moved from their home into a retirement condo. It was a difficult transition.”
“Ah, your parents.”
Abby winced at his tone. Her mother had never accepted Donovan in her life. She’d always claimed he was never serious enough about anything. He’d endured her disapproval and caustic comments many times, and always without losing his charm. His faultless manners and quirky sense of humor had helped Abby weather many embarrassing confrontations.
“How are your parents? I suppose the two dedicated doctors of genetics are still buried in their world?”
“No. Dad’s in the first stages of Alzheimer’s. He gets frustrated by the memory lapses. Mom’s finding it difficult.” Wasn’t that an understatement?
Her parents had always lived and breathed their work. They’d assumed Abby would follow in their footsteps and were less than pleased when she refused to attend college. Jewelry design was so not the career of choice her mother wanted for her only child, a fact she constantly reiterated.
“I’m very sorry, Abby.” Donovan looked genuinely upset. “It can’t be easy on you.”
“I manage.”
The casual hand he brushed through his hair, mussing it even further, was so Donovan. Abby blinked at the flicker of silver on his finger. He still wore the ring she’d made for him in junior high? That shocked her.
“So you entered this contest because—?”
Again Abby shoved back past memories.
“Because it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to showcase my work to some of the top people in the industry. If I win, I’ll finally be able to move to New York and work with one of them.”
Donovan studied her solemnly.
“Still proving yourself, Abby?” he asked quietly.
She gripped the edge of her worktable and swallowed hard, suddenly furious.
“That’s not fair. Don’t I have a right to extend myself, see how far my abilities can take me? You’re not the only one who has dreams beyond Denver you know.”
Donovan’s face altered. “I didn’t mean that. You’re a talented designer who can work marvels with metal and stone. It’s only natural you want to stretch yourself.”
“I can hear a ‘but’ in there.”
He searched her face. The sparkle that usually blazed through his eyes dimmed.
“I know how hard you must have fought to make your own way, Abby.”
“Nothing’s changed there,” she admitted grimly. “My mother still hopes I’ll have some kind of awakening and realize I really want to be a scientist.”
“Is she why you’ve entered this contest?”
The astuteness of his comment proved that Donovan had lost none of the perspicacity that had always rendered him capable of sizing up a situation in seconds. But Abby didn’t want him looking too closely into her motives.
“I’m doing this for me,” she told him firmly. “Because I need to stretch myself, to do more unusual designs, ones Weddings by Woodwards has no market for.”
“And if winning means your mother finally accepts your capability, so much the better, right?” He nodded as if he understood. “I suppose it’s the only way she’ll be convinced now.”
A simple uplift of one eyebrow breathed life into his entire face. Abby slammed the door on her memories. The past was dead. Her goal was the future.
“Have you got a stone chosen for this piece? You’re surely not doing paste?”
“The fellow who commissioned it is buying the diamond from Woodwards.”
“So you’re looking at what, three carats?” he guessed. “Nice.” He tilted his head to one side.
Then Donovan pulled a dark blue box from his jacket pocket.
“I saw this in Greece. It reminded me of that essay we did together in our senior year, the one on classical Greece.”
She didn’t want to talk about their past.
Donovan snapped the latch exposing a gorgeous bracelet crafted in the Byzantine style.
Abby lost her breath when he slid the web of gold onto her wrist. No sooner had he closed the clasp than she brought the bracelet closer to study it.
“The detail of the granulation is incredible. It looks like it was spun into shape.” She twisted her arm left, then right, to examine each bend and fold, admiring the painstaking craftsmanship.
Then reality returned.
“I can’t take this, Donovan. It’s too expensive. Besides, you don’t owe me anything.” She tried to slip it off, but he grasped her hand and held it between his.
“I’m not trying to repay you, Abby. Why would I?” He lifted one eyebrow. “I bought it years ago because I knew you would appreciate it.”
And then what—he’d forgotten he had it?
Or he now wanted to be rid of all reminders of the past?
“You can’t return a gift, Abby.”
“But this—”
“Is yours.” He watched her tip her wrist toward the light, as if he understood how little she wanted to give back this bracelet.