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“Grandmother loves gardenias,” Donovan murmured.
Abby remained silent. He pulled into the parking lot, parked the car and studied her.
“You already knew that.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t bring herself to break a confidence.
“She’s a senior. So is Art. He definitely has a lot of money. Look at his car.”
Abby looked at Donovan instead. Saw understanding dawn.
“You’re saying Art is going to give my grandmother a diamond ring?”
“I’m not saying anything at all.”
“You don’t have to.” Donovan laid one arm on the steering wheel, his shock obvious. “But—they’ve just met!”
“Correction. You just met him. Winifred has known him for quite a while in very intense circumstances. That makes a difference.”
“Does the family know?”
“Of course not. This is Art’s secret. He wants to do it his way. I have no intention of spoiling that.” She gathered her purse, undid her seatbelt. “And neither can you,” she warned, glaring at him.
“But—marriage?” Donovan gaped. “She’s been a widow for—”
“Too long. Art makes her happy.” Abby avoided his stare. “Anyway, no one said anything about marriage to me. I was commissioned to make a gift and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Come on. A ring with a three-carat diamond?”
“Would be a very nice gift. It doesn’t have to automatically mean marriage.” She climbed out of his car and shut the door, suddenly irritated by his comments. “But what if it does? Surely that’s up to them to decide? Why should you object, except that you’ll have to find your own place to live?”
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Isn’t this exactly what we’ve been talking about? Figuring out the needs and wants of those who could be Woodwards’ new clients?”
Abby studied him for a moment, then walked swiftly into Woodwards. She went directly to her office and dealt with each and every matter that came up. At five o’clock she shut her door, pulled out Ariane’s sketch and went to work, forming a delicate but strong platinum gardenia that would shelter but also enhance the dazzling diamond she’d chosen. By nine-thirty Abby had a prototype that amazed even her. She dialed a number.
“Are you busy?”
“You have something?”
“A preliminary.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, Art buzzed the back door.
“I hope you like it,” Abby murmured as she led him to her office. She slid a cloth off her work and showed him.
His reaction was everything she could have wanted.
“God surely does know how to direct a fellow to the right person for the job. And he certainly gave you a talent, Abby.” He bent, studied the ring from every angle.
Abby waited, nerves on tenterhooks.
This wasn’t God’s doing, she wanted to yell. This is me in spite of God. God hadn’t been part of her life since Donovan walked out on her and their dream. At least, she’d thought it was theirs.
“Finish it.” Art straightened, pulled out his checkbook and wrote in a sum that made her eyes pop. “This is your commission. Use it however you want.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you very much.”
“Don’t thank me, Abby.” He tilted on his heels, his face shadowed. “God has blessed you with a glorious gift that deserves to be displayed. But can I give you some advice?”
“Of course.” She held herself very still, waiting for the changes she was certain he’d ask for.
“There are a couple of verses in the Bible—I think I was meant to pass them on to you.”
“I see.” Why didn’t God give her the verses himself?
Art pulled a piece of paper from the stack on her printer and began writing in a big, ranging scrawl.
Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but be a new and different person with a freshness in all you do and think—Matt 10:29–31.
“That’s the NCV translation,” he added as he handed the paper to her.
A freshness in all you do and think. So God approved the contest?
“Thank you.” Abby stuffed the paper into a pocket. “Art, you realize you won’t be able to give this ring to Winifred if I enter it in the contest?” She had to be certain he understood he couldn’t pop it on her finger right away.
“Time’s not right for us yet,” Art agreed quietly. “But it is right for you. Get that thing finished and on the way to New York. Then get started on the next one.”
“Any ideas what that should be?” Abby tossed him a cheeky grin.
Art didn’t laugh. Instead his demeanor grew quite serious.
“You’re going to the wrong source. I’m not the one you should be asking.”
She knew he meant God.
Abby thanked him again for his generous check, but after Art had left and she stood alone in the massive Weddings by Woodwards building, she couldn’t stop his words from repeating inside her mind.
Could it really be that for five years she’d misunderstood God? That he didn’t want to foil her goals but to help her achieve them? That God had actually given her the need to create jewelry?
No. If that were true, then God would have given her parents who understood her dreams, who encouraged her to reach for them and achieve them. He would have kept Donovan here so he could support her dreams.
For so long Abby had been fighting to achieve her goals. Surely God should have eased her path, helped her.
Shouldn’t he?
For a tiny infinitesimal moment Abby wondered what Donovan would say about it. But then she recalled the verse. New and different; freshness in all you do and think.
Definitely time to get rid of the old pattern of worrying about what other people would think and be who she really was.
“Grandmother, there’s no need to explain. If you don’t like the idea, I’ll come up with another. It’s not a problem.”
But it was. More than two weeks and so far nothing Donovan had been able to suggest seemed to jibe with Winifred’s ideas. Neither was he making much headway with Ari. She still held herself at a distance from everyone, including him. Donovan was frustrated.
“I appreciate the work you’ve put into this, son. It’s just—not quite there yet.”
“So I’ll pull together some different ideas tomorrow. Right now I think I’d better go in search of Ariane. She’s been waiting quite a while.”
“You haven’t found a place for her to spend afterschool hours yet?” Winifred’s disapproval was obvious. “It’s not good for her to be alone so much, Donovan.”
“I know. Olivia thinks she’s got a place locked down in the daycare she and Reese use when they have to work late, but the spot isn’t available until the first of the month. Until then, I don’t have any other choice but to have Ari brought here.”
“I would have thought there would be some afterschool programs she could join in, but at least she’ll soon be with other children. She needs to open up.” Winifred closed the portfolio he’d given her and handed it back. “Talk to Abby again and let me know as soon as you have something else I can look at.”
“Will do, Grandmother.” Donovan bent, kissed Winifred’s white curls and left her office pretending nonchalance.
The truth was he was fresh out of ideas, and for an idea man that was unacceptable. Worse than that, he did not want to keep running to Abby. She’d told him the changes she envisioned. That should be enough.
Only it wasn’t. He couldn’t seem to translate those ideas onto paper.
“Hey, Katie, have you seen Ariane? I know she arrived, but—”
“The driver dropped her off a while ago. She was in here for a bit, but then she left. Maybe to get a drink? I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.” Katie offered him a distracted look as she hurried away to solve some problem.
Fiona ushered a client out of a fitting room and through the front door before dragging a hand through her hair.
“That was a toughie. She has no clue what she wants.”
“Those are your best weddings, Mom,” he cheered her on with a hug. “Seen Ariane?”
“Olivia was here with her and the twins when I went in for the consult. Olivia wouldn’t have just left her alone. She may have wandered off somewhere. In my experience, girls usually like the fabric room.” Fiona glanced at her watch, smiled at the woman entering the building. “Hello. I’m so glad you made it.”
Fiona gave him a questioning look.
“Go on with your client. I’ll find her,” he whispered.
“Thanks, honey. We have to check out that reception hall tonight or I’d—”
Donovan shook his head at her and pointed. “Go.”
The rest of the family was equally involved in business, so Donovan didn’t bother them, simply walked through the enormous building, intentionally leaving Abby’s section until last. Not that he was avoiding her, exactly.
Okay, he was. But fatherhood meant he was supposed to handle whatever problems came up, not depend on someone else to solve them. Donovan couldn’t help glancing toward the jewelry designer’s domain. When he saw a small dark head next to Abby’s toffee-toned one, he realized he’d have to face Abby sooner than he’d planned. He moved to the doorway to watch.
“I really like the way you’ve made that banding line accentuate the front of the bracelet, Ariane,” Abby murmured. “It looks a lot neater now.”
Ari smiled to herself as she threaded another bead onto a pliable string that already held a number of beads. She worked quickly, threading, twisting, tying, until she caught sight of him in the doorway. Immediately she set down her things and walked over to him as if duty called.
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