CHAPTER TWO

      THE NEXT MORNING FOUND Angie wrestling with the ancient lock on the door to her studio. She pulled the key out, then slid it back in and jiggled it around. After a few tense seconds she felt the latch give and rolled her eyes.

      Typical. Like everything else in the Stradbroke building, the mechanism worked just enough to make it difficult to make a case to the landlord to replace it. She locked the door behind her and dropped her bag on the small table and chairs she kept for client meetings, then crossed to the window to let in some fresh air. Next, she pulled on the well-worn leather apron she wore to protect her clothes and hunkered down in front of her safe to open it. Inside were the flat strips of gold, silver and other metals that she used to create the alloys for her pieces, as well as a box containing dozens of small boxes, each of which boasted a selection of diamonds and other gems. She preferred to work with white, champagne and pink diamonds, but she had a small collection of rubies and emeralds and sapphires, as well. This morning she ignored the stones and pulled the gold and silver from the safe. Both the rings for the Merton commission—her first priority this week—were to be made from 18-karat white gold. She checked the design brief she’d created in consultation with Judy and John and did some math to calculate how much she’d need of both palladium and gold to accommodate their ring sizes—an L and S respectively—then turned toward the scales to measure.

      Perhaps inevitably, her thoughts turned to Michael and the kids as she worked.

      She’d really pissed him off last night with her unsolicited advice.

      It was so hard to know what to do. Michael may have been married to Billie for six years, and Angie may have seen him once a week on average during that time, but their friendship had always been grounded in their mutual connection with Billie. Not that Angie didn’t like him in his own right—she did, a lot—but in her mind he was Billie’s husband first and foremost, and then Michael. Just as she suspected she was Billie’s friend first to him, and then herself.

      Although maybe that assessment wasn’t strictly true anymore. It had been an intense ten months, after all.

      The phone rang, cutting through her thoughts. She leaned to grab the handset.

      “Angela speaking.”

      “Angie, it’s Michael.”

      “Oh. Hi.”

      “Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite your head off again. I rang to apologize for last night.”

      “You don’t need to apologize.”

      “Yeah, I do. I was an ass, and I’m sorry.”

      One of the things she’d always liked about Michael was that he didn’t beat around the bush. He was a man of few words, but those he did speak were always worth hearing.

      “Apology accepted. Even if it is unnecessary.”

      “I thought about what you said, and I spoke to my partners today. They’re keen for me to come back whenever I’m ready.”

      “Hey, that’s great. Are you going to take them up on it?”

      “I don’t know. I need to sort out child care. But you were right. Sitting around here on my own all day isn’t helping anything.”

      She pictured the darkened kitchen and living room and his shaggy hair and too-thin frame.

      “It’s hard to get into things again. But life goes on whether we want it to or not. Wrong as it seems.” She hated how trite she sounded.

      “Yeah, I know.”

      “Have you thought about going back part-time to start with? Maybe three days a week, or something like that? That way both you and the kids would have a chance to get used to you not being around as much.”

      “Part-time. I hadn’t thought of that. But there’s no reason why I couldn’t do it, even if it meant I worked from home on the other days.”

      “Let’s face it, you’re probably going to do that anyway,” she said drily.

      “True. And that would mean I’d only have to find day care for Charlie three days. And work out something for Eva after school.”

      She moved to the window, stepping into a shaft of sunlight and letting it warm her skin.

      “What about a nanny? I have no idea how much they are, but my friend Gail uses one. She says it’s a godsend.”

      “Yeah? I guess it would be worth investigating. I keep hearing that the day-care places around here have waiting lists as long as my arm.”

      “I’ll ask where she got hers and text you.”

      “Thanks, Angie. I appreciate it.”

      There was a humble sincerity to his tone that made her throat tight.

      “How would you feel about me coming over on Sunday and taking Eva shopping for her friend’s present?”

      It felt like a pitifully small gesture, all things considered, but at least it was practical.

      “I would feel eternally grateful. I have no idea what to buy a six-year-old.”

      “Neither do I, to be honest, but we can wing it. What say I swing by to pick her up at two on Sunday?”

      “She’ll be ready. Thanks, Angie.”

      “It helps me, too, you know,” she said quietly. “Being with the kids. Helping you out.”

      He was silent for a moment. “Okay.” There was a wealth of understanding in the single word.

      “I’ll see you Sunday.”

      “You will.”

      She ended the call and stepped out of the sunshine.

      Michael was going back to the firm. A good decision, she was sure of it. Her work had saved her during the early, hard months. She was sure it would help him find himself again now.

      At least, she hoped so.

      * * *

      THE REMAINDER OF THE WEEK sped by in a blur. Angie worked late every night, keen to make inroads on the commissions that had been waiting while she was in New York. She allowed herself the small luxury of sleeping in on Sunday before catching up with a friend for lunch. It was just after two when she stopped in front of Billie’s house.

      She rang the doorbell, then had a horrible moment where she was suddenly convinced that she’d left her phone behind in the café. She fumbled in her handbag. Her fingers closed around her phone’s smooth contours as the front door opened.

      “Hey. Right on time,” Michael said.

      She glanced up, a lighthearted retort on her lips. The first thing she registered was his new, crisp haircut and the fact that he was clean-shaven. Then her gaze took in his broad chest in a sweat-dampened tank top and the skin-tight black running leggings moulded to his muscular legs. The words died on her lips and she blinked, momentarily stunned by the change in him.

      “You’ve cut your hair,” she said stupidly.

      “Yeah. Decided it was time to stop doing my Robinson Crusoe impersonation.”

      He gestured for her to enter and she brushed past him. He smelled of fresh air and spicy masculine deodorant. He preceded her up the hall and her gaze traveled across his shoulders before dropping to his muscular backside. Billie had often waxed poetic about Michael’s body, but Angie had always made a point of not noticing—she didn’t want to know that kind of stuff. Now, as he stopped at the kitchen counter, she was forcibly reminded of the fact that he was a very attractive man.

      For a moment she didn’t quite know where to look.

      “Is,