A Ring and a Promise. Lois Richer
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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. And he probably did.
Donovan hadn’t changed. He was still like a chameleon, spinning dreams and fantasy so well that everyone fell under his spell. But the man himself was impossible to pin down. Only now, seeing him again after so long, did Abby recognize that he’d abandoned the charisma he’d used to skate over life.
“Thank you.” Abby undid the clasp and set the bracelet back in its box.
“Abby, about that proposal.”
“I’m not going to talk about it, Donovan. It’s over. I’m over it. I’ve moved on. So should you.”
“You sound so hard. I don’t remember that about you.”
She stared straight at him.
“Time and circumstances do that to you, Donovan.”
He returned her look without flinching.
“Maybe you should tell me what you think happened that night, Abby,” he said, a quiet tension threading his voice. “What did your mother say?”
“What’s the point of rehashing that period of our lives? It’s over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Abby turned her back, pretending to concentrate on her ring.
A few minutes later, she heard the door close.
Her legs weakened and she had to sit down for a minute to regain her equanimity.
So Donovan was back.
“So you avoid him. Keep yourself busy and away from him. He’s probably here for only a month or two, anyway. Donovan never sticks to anything anyway.” At least not the Donovan she remembered.
For his first week at work, Donovan stuck to his office, familiarizing himself with everything about Weddings by Woodwards. Wednesday night he stayed late, poring over the ad campaigns the company had used in the past.
Puzzled by something he read, Donovan was doing a survey of the sales floor when he saw a light shining in a back room. He checked it out and then wished he’d stayed upstairs.
Abby was hunched over a table, her face determined as she twisted one of the ring’s claws tighter.
“It must be tough to find the spare time to do what you love.”
“That’s life.” Abby ignored him.
“Tell me more about this contest.” He poked his finger at the fake stone.
“It’s for jewelry designers across America who want to reach a broader audience with new designs.”
“Meaning the chichi moneyed set?” he pressed on, determined to get rid of the tension between them.
“Meaning people who know jewelry,” Abby substituted. “The kind of people I want to know better. In New York.”
Donovan detested the snappish self-righteous tone in her voice. He was the good guy here. Five years ago, he’d given her the chance to pursue her dreams.
“You never let anything stand in the way of your goals, do you, Abby?”
“What does that mean?” she demanded, her forehead pleated in a fierce frown. “Do you?”
Donovan sighed. What was he doing—trying to make her admit he’d been right to leave?
“Grandmother says your designs are hot at Woodwards.”
“Sales have been going well.” She set the ring down before facing him. “Why are you back, Donovan? Are you suddenly interested in the family’s wedding planning business?”
Do not take offense, he ordered himself.
“It was time.”
“Why now?”
“Grandmother wants a new marketing campaign that will spread the company logo across the country. Something young and hip,” he explained. “If the Chicago store goes well, she thinks she might start another on the East Coast, provided I can up our brand recognition to national status. I’m to get to work and earn my keep.”
“Oh. No one told me about another store, but then, why would they?”
Donovan winced at the hint that even though Abby had always been like one of the Woodward family when they were dating, there was no reason for them to consider her as part of their inner circle since he’d left. He hadn’t considered how that might impact her.
“I heard you were working with one of Winifred’s contacts in Paris and enjoying it,” she said.
Unasked question: Why leave now?
“I had some changes in my life,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d heard.”
“Heard what?”
“I brought someone home with me.”
“Oh.”
“Her name is Ariane.”
Something flickered through Abby’s expressive eyes, but it was gone so fast he couldn’t decipher it.
“She’s seven.”
“Seven?” Abby blinked.
“I’m her godfather.” He saw her disbelief. “Improbable as that may sound, it’s the truth.”
“I see.” Abby kept staring at him.
“She is the daughter of my very best friend. George’s death was a shock to all of us.” It still hurt to think of that vibrant man silenced in a boating accident. “Ariane’s mother died of cancer when she was two. There was no other family. I couldn’t leave her a ward of the state. Besides, I’d promised George that I would take care of her.”
He paused, collecting his emotions from those horrible weeks.
“I’m very sorry.” At least Abby sounded genuine.
“I just wanted you to know. You never seemed like the motherly type, so you probably can’t understand my actions, but I knew if I could bring Ariane home, then the family would help her.”
“That was very generous of you.”
Abby had closed him out. She said the right words, but her heart wasn’t in them. She just wasn’t interested. Her focus was on her ring.
Like that was unusual. Jewelry had always come first with Abby.
She was packing away her tools.
“Donovan, I’ve got to go. There are a thousand things on my plate and I’m way past the time I’d allotted for working tonight. Maybe we can talk more another day?”
“Sure.” He nodded, watching as she locked her project in a small personal safe near her desk. “Sorry I bothered you.”
She didn’t say anything and he wondered if she’d even heard. But after a moment she turned, smiling at him.
“Sorry. I had an idea for the contest.”
“Totally career focused, as usual.” He didn’t bother to mask the disparaging tone lacing his words. “It really matters that much to you?”
“Yes, my career matters to me. Just as much as yours does to you,”