by Kait Nolan
“Certainly.” The jeweler retrieved it.
Brandon held it up. “I don’t know. It looks pretty small. Isabelle’s tiny, but not that tiny.”
“We can resize anything that isn’t the correct size.”
“May I?” Everett held out a hand. The round cut sapphire was flanked by smaller accent diamonds in an ornate, antique setting.
“The story that came with it was rather sweet. Her grandmother was a Broadway star back in her day. Had a whirlwind romance with the grandfather and with this ring, he stole America’s sweetheart.”
A story like that made this a real part of a family history. An heirloom. Everett had been taught to respect and value such things. He suspected from the seller’s level of upset that she had, as well. Which made the situation that much more tragic. The ring itself was a lovely piece, but it could’ve been hideous and he still would’ve asked, “How much?”
“Wait a minute,” protested Brandon. “I haven’t even looked at these others. And I think she’d prefer a traditional diamond.”
“Not for you,” said Everett. “How much?”
The jeweler named a figure.
Everett didn’t blink. “Ring it up.”
“Man, what the hell are you doing?” asked Brandon.
“My good deed for the year. If you could ring it up fast, that would be great.”
“Everett, buddy, are you about to do what I think you’re about to do?” asked Travis. He kept his voice light and even, the kind of tone you used with a person threatening to jump off a ledge.
“I have no idea what you think I’m about to do.” Everett handed over his credit card.
“I think you’re about to buy an engagement ring for a perfect stranger.”
“Then yes, I’m doing exactly what you think I’m doing.”
“This is insane,” said Brandon.
“Life’s too short not to be a little crazy once in a while. Besides, it’s not like I’m proposing. I just want to give it back to her.” Everett signed the credit card receipt and accepted the ring in a box. Saluting his friends, he said, “I’ll be right back!”
He bolted out of Vandevelde’s and headed the direction the woman had turned, eyes searching for the red parka and blonde hair. The slushy sidewalks kept him from sprinting, so he took the opportunity to glance through storefront windows. Given the apparently dire state of her finances, Everett didn’t figure she’d have been stopping in any of them to shop, but he didn’t want to risk missing her. It should’ve been easy, even with the crowd, but he didn’t see her.
She had a five minute head start. How far could she have gotten?
Everett went all the way to the parking area, but there was no sign of the woman who’d sold the ring.
I’ll just get her name from the jeweler. He’ll have a record from the sale, he thought.
Back at Vandevelde’s, Brandon and Travis had narrowed it down to three choices.
“Find her?” asked Travis.
“No,” Everett admitted. He looked to the man behind the counter. “Can I get her name and number to arrange a meeting to give the ring back to her?”
“I’m afraid I have a policy of strict confidentiality of my client’s information.”
Everett tried a smile. “But surely you could make an exception this one time. In the name of a good cause.”
“Young man, you may be as well intentioned as you seem. Or you could just as easily be a potential thief or worse. That young lady has had enough trouble in her life. I won’t be the cause of more.”
Everett tamped down on his disappointment. “No, it’s all right. I understand.”
“So what are you going to do?” asked Brandon.
“Keep looking. It’s doubtful she’d have had any knowledge of the store’s reputation if she wasn’t a local. Town’s just not that big. I’ll run into her eventually.” Everett moved over to the counter. “Now, let’s see those contenders.”
~*~
“The groundhog lied,” declared Brenna, plunking down into a chair. “There is absotively no evidence of spring out there.”
Sylvie smiled at her new roommate and speared a chip into the bowl of queso. “You do realize that Punxsutawney Phil has absolutely no bearing on whether we’re getting spring early or having more winter, right?”
“Spare me the lecture and gimme some of that cheese dip. God, it’s freezing.”
Sylvie shoved the basket of chips closer. “There’s something wrong when the southerner isn’t the one bitching about the cold.”
“I am from Tucson,” Brenna protested.
“Fair enough. At least we do get a little snow in Huntsville.”
“I rest my case.” She paused when the waiter arrived to take her drink order and asked for a margarita. “How were things at the gallery today?”
“Good. I’m nearly finished setting up for the Baudelaire showing that starts next week. And while I was uncrating his paintings, somebody wandered in and bought a sculpture by Lily Birdsong.”
“Oh yeah? Which one?”
“The steampunk pygmy owl.”
“I loved that one!” exclaimed Brenna. “He reminded me of Pigwidgeon from Harry Potter.”
“A small piece, but a really nice sale,” said Sylvie. “And the buyer absolutely had his eye on her copper hawk. I think there’s a good chance he may be back.”
The server returned with Brenna’s margarita, which she immediately lifted in a toast. “This calls for celebration!”
Sylvie clinked her glass to Brenna’s.
Things were better. So much better than she could have anticipated at Christmas, when everything seemed to be falling apart. She’d moved out of her apartment and into the stock room at the gallery. Sylvie hadn’t slept much during those weeks, constantly worried her landlord would find out and she’d be booted from that space too. Then Brenna, one of the Western artists Sylvie featured in her gallery, had found out about her plight and immediately offered up her spare room. With the sale of the ring and the padding of some post Christmas sales at the gallery, she’d been able to keep her head above water. As a special bonus, Sylvie ended up making a new BFF, something she hadn’t managed during her first two backbreaking years in Colorado. She’d always liked Brenna, but living in close quarters had showed her a soul sister.
Neal still hadn’t been caught, but things were looking up.
Conversation flowed free and easy over chips and queso, shifting from art to the latest episode of Iron Chef, to the current romantic comedy in the theaters.
“We should go this weekend,” Brenna declared. “Adam practically broke out in hives the last time I suggested a romcom. I swear, the man doesn’t understand that sappy movies totally prime me for other activities he’d totally be into.”
Sylvie snickered. “His loss.”
“Damn straight,” Brenna agreed. “So when are you getting back out there?”
“Back out where?”
“Duh. The dating pool.”
“Oh, I don’t know…a quarter after never?” suggested Sylvie.
“Come on, Syl. You can’t stay off the market forever just because one guy turned out to be a stinker.”
“He was more than a stinker.”
“Okay, yeah, he was a total reprobate,” Brenna admitted.
“Reprobate?”
“Asswipe?”
“That works.”
“But not all guys are like that.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust my judgment at the moment.”
“If you won’t trust your judgment, trust a system.”
“A system?”
“Sure. You should try online dating.”
“How about hell no?” suggested Sylvie.
“Wait, wait. Hear me out. Perfect Chemistry does background checks on all the people who sign up. And you have to provide a social security number to prove you are who you say you are and that you don’t have a criminal record, so nobody can go in and just make up an alias. T
heir whole system is set up on some kind of psychological matchmaking research, so you’re bound to do better than by chance.”
“Is that how you met Adam of the won’t watch your favorite kind of movie persuasion?” Sylvia asked.
“I said better than by chance, not perfect,” Brenna qualified. “But seriously, despite some flaws, Adam’s pretty awesome. And I had good dates with a handful of others before I started going out with him.”
Knowing her friend wasn’t about to let this go, Sylvie sighed and conceded. “Fine. I’ll consider it.”
Brenna’s dimples flashed.
“What?” asked Sylvie. “I recognize that impish look. What did you do?”
All innocence, Brenna studied her pink, glitter polish-coated nails. “I might have set up a profile for you already. And you might already have some matches in your inbox wanting to talk.”
“Brenna!”
“What? You weren’t going to act on your own. I’m just giving you a little nudge out of the nest.”
“A boot to the ass is more like it,” Sylvie grumbled.
“Just look at their profiles. Talk to a few of them. There’s absolutely no rule that says you have to actually go out with anybody. But it won’t hurt you to dip a toe back in.”
The idea of having somebody screen dates was kind of appealing. And Lord knew she’d been working her butt off since Christmas. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a little fun. “Well okay,” said Sylvie. “Just remember, if something goes sideways and I end up with another Neal, this was all your idea.”
Brenna clapped in delight. “Excellent! Hurry up and finish your fajitas. I want to go home and check your profile.”
“Exactly why are you so pumped about this?”
“Apart from the fact that my stake in this is ultimately potential double date material, I’ll get vicarious thrills from watching you squirm.”
Sylvie’s lips curved in a wry smile. “You’re a real Saint.”
~*~
“I thought we were doing Mexican,” said Everett.
“The bride-to-be wanted hibachi,” explained Brandon as he wheeled into the parking lot of the local Japanese steakhouse. “When she surfaces from an edit, she eats like a stevedore. I’ve learned not to argue.”
From the passenger seat, Isabelle shot him an affectionate look. “You’re just weirded out by the fact that I can out eat you.”
“Well, you’re half my size,” he remarked. “I don’t know where you put it.”
The pair continued their teasing banter all the way inside. Everett followed, grinning. He liked the way they were together, liked what they brought out in each other.
Brandon asked for a table for three. As they followed the hostess, Everett’s gaze swept the restaurant, automatically checking for that blonde hair, as had become his habit over the past weeks. But she wasn’t here. Just as she hadn’t been anywhere else he’d been since she’d walked out of Vandevelde’s. He pocketed the ring box he’d been compulsively juggling in his palm and sat.
“Why are you still toting that thing around?” asked Brandon. “It’s been nearly two months. You ought to go sell it back or put it on consignment somewhere. Get some of your money back.”
“Money’s not the point,” said Everett. “This is a piece of her family history. She deserves to have it back.”
“Well, I think it’s sweet and romantic,” said Isabelle.
“You would,” Brandon said, tugging lightly at the end of her pony tail.
“Romance wasn’t what I had in mind when I did it,” insisted Everett. “I just wanted to do something nice for somebody in a bad spot.”
“You’ve made a career doing nice stuff for people in bad spots,” Brandon pointed out. “That would be the entire point of your non-profit, remember?”
Everett waved that off. “That’s different.”
“You’re probably lucky you haven’t found this woman. She’d probably take one look at you, recognize you for the blue blood with the biggest, squishiest heart in all of Colorado, and take you to the cleaners.”
Everett jerked a thumb at him and looked at Isabelle. “You sure you want to marry this cynic?”
“I’m making it my mission in life to convert him,” she said. “What have you done to track her down?”
“Well, Mr. Vandevelde was understandably reluctant to give me her information on the front end. Confidentiality and all that. And he was absolutely right. I went back later and had him call to try and set up a meeting at the store, but the number she’d given on her paperwork was no longer in service. Since then, I’ve been mostly back to square one.”
“With the number disconnected, she’s probably not even still here,” said Brandon.
Isabelle elbowed him in the ribs. “Ye of little faith. Is there anything you have to go on? Would he give you her name?”
Everett shook his head. “And that’s fair too. Somebody had taken awful advantage of her to put her in the position to sell the ring in the first place. He has no way of knowing I wouldn’t do the same. I’ve gotta respect that. But it makes things difficult.”
“I think you need to get out there and look for a real woman instead of holding out for some girl you’re never going to see again,” Brandon insisted.
“I’m not holding out for her,” Everett protested. “I didn’t do this with some motive of wrangling a date out of it. That would be unethical.”
Brandon just arched a brow. “Have you been out with anybody since you bought that thing?”
“Well, no. But things were busy with the holidays, and January is always a busy month at work, and I…” He trailed off at his friend’s bland stare.
Maybe he had avoided seeking out a date since December. But the search for his mystery woman had captured his imagination. How would a potential date react if he talked about it, as he inevitably would? What normal guy did what he’d done? No normal guy was the truth of it. Normal guys didn’t have the discretionary income to indulge in such a crazy gesture.
“I think you’ve built her up in your mind,” said Brandon. “Got this whole damsel in distress thing going on and you the knight in armor and all that. It’s a thing with you, that whole addiction to rescuing people.”
“So long as he’s not taking crazy risks with life and limb, I don’t see how that’s a bad addiction,” countered Isabelle. “Though I can see how that might put you in a position to be taken advantage of yourself.”
Brandon threw out a hand in a See? gesture. “Thank you.”
Everett glared. “I’m hardly some bumbling rube without an ounce of common sense.”
“No, you’re just determined to see the best in people.” Brandon held up a hand for peace before Everett could respond. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. But not everybody’s as nice as you.”
“So let me get this straight. I’m supposed to give up on finding the woman who sold this ring, stop being nice to everybody, and go out and find somebody to date?”
“I never said you should stop being nice to people. But yeah, I think you need to come to grips with the fact you may never find this woman.”
“Well, I’ve got an alternative plan,” said Isabelle.
Everett lifted his sake. “I’m game to hear it.”
“You know how when you’re looking for something and can’t find it, it’s not until you stop looking and go do something else that it pops up? Maybe you going out with somebody else will work like that for you. And if it doesn’t, then you still might meet Miss Right.”
“You happily engaged couples keep trying to marry everybody off,” accused Everett.
Isabelle laid a hand over his. “We just want to see you happy.”
Everett sighed. “It’s hard to argue with that.”
She smiled. “You should check out online dating. My friend Leah met her guy through Perfect Chemistry. And indirectly, that’s how I met Brandon.”
“Fine. I concede your point. I’ve tried everything else,
so I might as well try not looking and see what happens.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Brandon.
“No? Fine. Just to prove my seriousness, I will sit here and fill out the stinking profile from my phone for your approval.”
It took a while between juggling conversation, ordering, eating the soup and salad, but by the time the chef was done with their little show, Everett had finished. He handed the phone over. “There. See?”
“Good man. Now let’s see what kind of matches the site comes up with.”
Everett rolled his eyes as Brandon began playing with the screen.
“It’s given you seven matches right off.”
“Possibly because they are the only available women in our area, in the age range, who have profiles on the site,” suggested Everett.
Brandon ignored that. “Let’s see. There’s Anne. Age 26. Oooh, a red-head veterinarian. You’re an animal lover. That could be a good pair. Then there’s Lina. She’s a brunette. Age 30. She’s a ski instructor.” He tapped some more. “Oh, here we go. This one is an art lover with an addiction to Mexican food. Quite a looker, too.” Brandon passed the phone back.
And there she was, staring out at him from the screen. It was a three/quarters profile shot. Casual. Someone had caught her on the verge of a smile as she stood on a trail somewhere in the red parka he’d been looking for all this time. Her eyes were hazel, long-lashed and bracketed by laugh lines.
“Holy shit,” breathed Everett.
“What?” asked Brandon.
“I didn’t think it would actually work.” He looked up. “This is her.”
“Wait, seriously?” asked Isabelle, leaning over to peer at the phone. “That’s totally not how I thought it would work. I figured you’d go out with somebody else and run into her somewhere. Not that she’d be, like, hand-delivered to your phone.”
“What are the odds? I mean, it’s not that big a town, I guess, but still.”
“We’ll just say it was your mouth to God’s ear,” said Everett, darting in to kiss Isabelle’s cheek.
“What’s her name?
“Sylvie,” Everett murmured. “Her name is Sylvie.” A sweet name, he thought.
“Well, I call this a sign,” said Isabelle.
