If the Ring Fits.... Jackie Braun

tattoos?”

      “A red rose on the back of her neck and some other designs that I couldn’t make out poking from the cuffs of her blouse. I’m betting there are more. Obviously her mother never gave her the lecture our mom gave us.”

      “Anything on your hip at twenty will be sliding down your backside at fifty and you don’t even want to know where it will end up by the time you’re seventy,” Rachel recited. They both laughed.

      “So, you’re not mad?” Heidi asked.

      “I don’t like him knowing my business,” Rachel said slowly. “He lost that right a long time ago.”

      Rachel knew that, generally speaking, Heidi agreed with the sentiment, but Heidi’s feeling were that if showering his daughters with gifts or money now and again eased Griff’s guilt, so be it. Take whatever he offered. He owed them that much.

      “He’s going to be calling you,” Heidi said.

      “Why?” She gritted her teeth to keep from following up the question with the slew of unflattering adjectives popping around in her head.

      “He has a friend who owns a condo development. The bank foreclosed on one of the units a couple of months ago and the guy bought it back for a song. It’s sitting empty until they can do some updating and put it back on the market. You wouldn’t even have to pay—”

      “No,” she said flatly.

      “No? Why not, Rachel? It solves your most pressing problem,” Heidi said. “If you won’t stay with me or Mom, you’ll have to pay rent somewhere else until the apartment over your shop is ready.”

      As it was, Rachel just barely could afford the contractor she’d hired, though she comforted herself with the thought that it made more sense in the long run to add an income property than to pay rent. Now, she was going to have to move twice and pay rent somewhere in the interim, too.

      Still, Rachel was adamant. “I don’t want Dad’s help.”

      “That doesn’t mean you can’t take advantage of it…and him,” Heidi said. “If he wants to help, I say let him.”

      “Did he say anything about my divorce?” When her sister remained silent, Rachel prompted, “Well?”

      “Just that he wasn’t surprised.” Heidi coughed. “He said he knew from the start that Mal wasn’t the right sort of man for you.”

      She hated that Griff was right. She’d known her relationship with Mal was far from perfect even before he was unfaithful, but it had seemed far more perfect than her parents’ marriage. Men like her father cheated. Flashy men who were quick with compliments. Sexy men who were steeped in charm. Tony Salerno sprang to mind. Men like that couldn’t settle down. They liked adventure, variety. They broke hearts along with their promises. But men like Mal? He’d seemed so safe.

      He worked as a financial adviser. He wore conservative suits. He drove a midsize sedan the color of sand. He was solid, dependable—boring, according to Heidi. But Rachel had craved boring after all of their father’s drama.

      “Like Dad is such an expert on marriage and relationships,” she said drily.

      “You know Dad.”

      Rachel was far from mollified. “He barely knows Mal. He barely knows me. Or you, for that matter.”

      Griff and Mal had met only twice—the day of Rachel’s wedding and that Christmas when her father had popped in unexpectedly, about as welcome as the heavy loaf of store-bought fruitcake he’d brought with him.

      “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

      “Rach—”

      “I don’t want his help.” Good and worked up now with righteous indignation, Rachel exclaimed, “In fact, I’d sooner strike a bargain with the devil than take it.”

      Her phone beeped. Another call was coming in. “I’ve got to go, Heidi. I’ll talk to you later.”

      She was relieved to end the conversation with her sister until she heard Tony’s deep voice. The devil, it turned out, was on her other line.

      “Good evening, Rachel.”

      “Mr. Salerno.”

      “Tony.” She heard a soft chuckle. Then, “I apologize for calling after hours and on a Friday no less.”

      Rachel gave out her cell number only to select customers. Tony was one of the few, due to the amount of money he’d spent at Expressive Gems over the years.

      “That’s all right. Is there a problem?”

      “That depends on you. I’ve had a change in my itinerary. I was planning to pick up the necklace on Wednesday. Unfortunately, I need to return to New York before then.”

      “So, you want to pick it up early.”

      “I do. If it is ready.”

      “I finished it just this afternoon. I think you’ll be pleased with the result.”

      “That goes without saying. Your work is always exceptional, which is why I keep coming back.”

      “Thank you. I can open the shop early tomorrow.” Normally on Saturdays, she didn’t flip the sign on the door until ten o’clock. Expressive Gems was closed on Sundays, as were most of the shops downtown except for the bakery and restaurants.

      He made a humming noise. “I was hoping I could pick it up tonight. I will pay you extra for your trouble, of course.”

      “Oh, it’s no trouble.” Rachel’s response was automatic, that of a businesswoman. The customer was always right, especially a customer with pockets as deep as Tony’s. But she also thought it might do her good to get out of the house for a while, even if only to go back to the shop where she’d already spent the bulk of her day.

      They made plans to meet in an hour, which gave her enough time to change her clothes, freshen up her makeup and do something more flattering with the hair she’d pulled back in a messy ponytail upon arriving home. She settled on a French braid, and traded in the comfortable black yoga pants and a T-shirt for a pair of khakis and a navy blue knit sweater with three-quarter-length sleeves. Tony was waiting in the parking lot behind Expressive Gems when she arrived. He was wearing a tuxedo.

      “I feel underdressed,” she remarked on a self-conscious laugh as she unlocked the door and tapped the deactivation code into the security system’s panel.

      He glanced down, as if just realizing that he was garbed in black formalwear and French cuffs. “I was at a fundraiser for the Detroit Institute of Art. I was asked to introduce the guest of honor, after which I was able to slip away.”

      “It must have just started.”

      “I will not be missed,” he replied on a shrug.

      She wasn’t sure she agreed. Looking as he did, he would have had the attention of every woman in the building. Add in his charisma and business savvy, and men would have wanted to seek him out, too.

      Tony was saying, “I hope I did not take you away from anything too important this evening.”

      She almost laughed. Summoning up a bit of self-deprecating humor, she replied, “Important? No. I was at a party. A pity party. Guest of honor. Believe me, I was happy for the interruption.”

      “A pity party.” He frowned.

      “I was feeling sorry for myself,” she clarified. “Wallowing.”

      “English may be my second language, but I am familiar with the term.” He stepped behind her, helping her out of the coat she’d begun to slip off. She felt his breath graze her temple when he continued. “I have a hard time picturing you wallowing.”

      “I assure you, I can do a credible job of it when I put my mind to it.”

      “Allora…