Once Upon an Heirloom
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Once Upon An Heirloom
Note From The Author
Other Books By Kait Nolan
Sneak Peek From To Get Me To You
Once Upon An Heirloom
A Meet Cute Romance
By Kait Nolan
Once Upon An Heirloom
Written and published by Kait Nolan
Copyright 2014 Kait Nolan
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following is a work of fiction. All people, places, and events are purely products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover design by Kait Nolan
Once Upon An Heirloom
The sidewalks were packed with people. Crowds moved in steady streams in and out of the shops lining the cobbled streets, juggling bags and packages. In general, they moved with frenzied purpose and a serious lack of holiday spirit. As he wove his way through them, Everett William Sperry, III wondered why in God’s name Brandon felt the need to meet at the Taproom in the midst of all the holiday crazy. This is what on-line shopping is for. To avoid this insanity. Also to avoid all the bell ringers, because he had absolutely no defense against them and felt compelled to drop a substantial donation into every charity bucket he passed. But Brandon had declared a state of emergency, so Everett had come.
Snow swirled from the pewter sky in fat, wet flakes, sticking to his lashes, his clothes, rapidly slushing up the street of the massive outdoor mall. The hike back to his car when this was over was going to be lots of fun. Everett hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind blowing down from the mountain and picked up the pace. The sooner he got there, the sooner he’d thaw out.
Up ahead, someone burst out of the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, flinging the door wide and barreling onto the sidewalk. A middle-aged woman in a puffy pink coat jerked to a halt in an effort to avoid being smacked in the face by the door. The abrupt motion had her feet sliding, the arms full of bags beginning to pinwheel. Everett leapt forward, skidding, and reached for her. The bags went flying, but he managed to catch the woman before she hit the cold, hard ground. The man who’d come out of the chocolate shop never even noticed, already halfway down the block with a cell phone pressed to his ear.
Nothing like Christmas to bring out the Grinch in people, he thought.
Planting his feet, Everett righted the woman. “You okay?”
“Oh my gracious.” She laid a hand over her heart. “You saved me from a broken tail bone at the least.”
“Least I could do. Nobody wants to spend Christmas sitting on a donut. Here, let me help you with that.” Everett knelt and gathered up the scattered purchases.
“Thank you, young man,” she said, accepting the collection of bags. “Somebody clearly raised you right.”
He flashed a smile. “My mama will be happy to hear it. You have a merry Christmas, now.” Everett waited a minute, watching to make sure his rescuee really had her footing back before continuing the remaining couple of blocks to the Taproom.
The moment he stepped inside, his face and hands began to sting from the heat. Stomping the snow from his boots, he scanned the room, looking for his friend. Brandon sat at the bar, thumbing his phone.
Stripping off the damp layers, Everett crossed to him. “Okay, I’m here. What’s the emergency?”
“I need your help with something,” said Brandon, kicking out the stool beside him. “Sit down. Have a drink.”
Everett draped his coat over the back and sank down onto the stool, loosening his scarf. Because he was frozen through, he asked for coffee instead of a beer. “I swear, if you’ve dragged me out in this mess to help you with your Christmas shopping, I’m going to murder you.”
“Not exactly,” said Brandon. His hand drummed the bar in rhythm with the jazzy version of “Jingle Bell Rock” playing in the background. His cheeks were faintly flushed and his mouth seemed to be at war between deadly serious and goofy grin.
“I’m guessing by your expression that nobody died, so what’s going on?” Everett nodded thanks to the bartender as she filled a mug to the brim.
The grin won the war. “I’m going to propose to Isabelle.”
Everett waited a beat as that sank in, then grinned himself. “Dude, that’s awesome!” He clapped Brandon on the back. The little brunette had kept his friend besotted for nearly a year now. They were great together. “Am I here to help you plan the thing? Some kind of epic surprise? Will there be a flash mob? We should get Travis in on this.”
Brandon lifted a brow. “Flash mob? Do I need to be investigating your YouTube viewing history in order to stage an intervention?”
“I blame my mother. She keeps sending me videos of these epic proposals. I don’t know if she thinks this is going to prompt me to find a woman or what. Anyway, if you need a plan, I’m your man.”
Brandon waved that away. “No, no, I’m fine on the how. Or I will be. Still working on that. And Travis is on his way. I want your help in picking out a ring.”
“My help?” asked Everett. “Not that I’m not flattered to be asked, but why?”
“Well, apart from the fact that this is a big step and I want my closest friends with me when I do it, I want you there because you know about this stuff.”
“‘This stuff,’” he repeated.
“Jewelry. Diamonds and stuff,” Brandon clarified.
“And I know about this how? Because I’ve got a generational suffix after my name?”
“Because with that blue-blooded upbringing of yours, you’ve been exposed to the real deal. You know quality when you see it. And you know how to use that eyepiece thing jewelers use.”
“A loupe,” offered Everett, picking up the coffee, warming his hands.
“Yeah, that. This is a big deal. I’ve gotta get it right.”
The door opened again and Travis walked in on a swirl of snow and frigid air. He strode over. “Sorry I’m late. What’s going on?”
“Brandon here is looking to follow in your footsteps,” said Everett.
“Huh?”
“I’m asking Isabelle to marry me.”
Travis whooped. “This calls for a celebration!”
“Save the celebration for when she says yes,” said Brandon. “We’re going ring shopping.”
“Want me to call Alicia for a female opinion on this consult?” asked Travis.
“Absolutely not. This is man’s work,” said Brandon. “There’s some kind of unwritten rule or something that you lose points if you need a girl consult.”
“Besides, I’m supposed to know about these things,” Everett put in.
“Well, alright then,” said Travis. “Finish your drinks and let’s get to work.”
~*~
As she paced in front of Vandevelde Jewelers, Sylvie Noll cursed Neal Harrier eight ways from Sunday for being a lying, sneaky, yellow coward dog scumbag. Then she chastised herself for insulting the dog.
How could I have been so stupid to have been taken in by that cretin? she wondered.
Because he’d wined and dined her, lowering her defenses with charm and gifts, giving every
impression he was a privileged jetsetter. And she’d bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Damn it, she’d been flattered and dazzled by his good looks, unable to imagine that someone like him would be interested in someone like her.
Idiot.
When he said he wanted access to her kitchen to cook her a special meal for their three month anniversary, she’d thought, Oh, how sweet, and given him a key.
Moron.
He cleaned her out. TV. Laptop. Jewelry. The Christmas presents she’d bought to mail home to her family in Alabama. The deposit from the gallery that she hadn’t taken to the bank the night before because of the crappy weather. Every single thing of value in her apartment. He’d even found her rainy day emergency stash in the toe of her favorite boots.
Of course, Sylvie had called the cops. They’d taken her statement, cataloged her missing things. And informed her that the bastard had done the exact same thing to three other women. They were still looking, but the investigating officer surmised that Neal—who’d used other aliases with the other victims—had probably blown town. He suggested that she file a claim on her renters’ insurance.
Right. The renters’ insurance she didn’t have because she hadn’t been able to afford it.
She was, in a word, screwed.
At least the bastard hadn’t gotten keys to the gallery and hadn’t been able to access the stock. Now next month’s rent was almost due on her apartment and the shop, and her landlords were not what you could call sympathetic to her plight. She’d have to move out of the apartment. There was no question of that. But she had to find a way to save her gallery.
The only thing Sylvie had left that was worth anything was her grandmother’s engagement ring, which she habitually wore on a chain around her neck. She thanked God that the bastard hadn’t gotten away with it, too. It was the only thing she had left of her grandmother. And it could mean the difference between saving the life she’d built here and conceding defeat and slinking home to Alabama as a failure.
If she could make herself go inside.
But how could she part with it? What would Mawmaw say?
Sylvie, my girl, it’s just jewelry. I believed in you when you decided to head out to Colorado in the first place. If this ring will help save you, don’t let a little thing like sentiment hold you back. Think of it as me giving you another little boost.
“Easy for you to say,” Sylvie muttered.
The door of Vandevelde’s opened and a man stuck his head out, a polite, but wary expression on his face. “Can I help you, ma’am? Do you need directions?”
Sylvie jolted and looked around. But, no, he was talking to her. She realized she probably looked like a crazy person trying to decide whether to rob the store.
“Oh! I…no. That is, I don’t need directions.”
It’s now or never, girl.
She braced herself. “And yes, you can help me. I have a ring I was hoping you could take a look at.”
The man’s face relaxed and he held the door open wider. “Certainly. Please, come in.”
Sylvie stepped out of the December cold and into the hushed space of the shop. It wasn’t a huge room but the air somehow felt heavy and kind of reverent, like a museum. Glass cases ran in a U along the sides and back, with room for the jeweler behind. He stepped through a little half door into his arena and pulled a pair of bifocals from his shirt front pocket.
“Now, what can I do for you, Miss?”
With only a moment’s hesitation, Sylvie pulled the necklace from her sweater and removed the ring. Gently, she handed it over. “It was my grandmother’s.”
The jeweler took it, examining the art deco setting. “It’s lovely craftsmanship.”
“I’ve always loved all the filigree. It seems so classy and elegant. Like she was.” As he examined it, Sylvie continued to talk. “She was an actress back in her day. Stage productions, mostly. Tallulah Bankhead was a cousin and helped her get her start up in New York. Mawmaw loved the stage, all the lights and the applause. When she met my granddaddy, she was headlining in America’s Sweetheart on Broadway. He swept her off her feet. So much so that they were married in less than two months, and he gave her this ring. Granddad always used to say that was how he stole America’s sweetheart for his own.”
The jeweler smiled. “That’s a lovely story.”
Sylvie flushed. “Sorry. I tend to go on a bit.”
“S’fine. It’s nice to know the history of a piece.” He peered at her over the glasses. “None of the stones seem to be loose. Did you need it resized?”
“She absolutely had smaller fingers than I do. Wore a five. Tiny, tiny hands.” You’re babbling, she chided herself. Get to the point. “The fact is, I’m looking to sell it.”
“Oh? Seems like an important piece to you.”
“It is. You have no idea.”
The door opened, interrupting the quiet with the noise of foot traffic outside. Sylvie glanced over to see a trio of men walk in.
“I’ll be with you gentlemen in a bit,” said the jeweler.
One lifted his hand. “No rush. We’ll just look around.”
Sylvie turned back to the counter.
“You were looking to sell?” he prompted.
“Oh, yes. Well, I’m in a terrible financial bind. I made the mistake of trusting the wrong person, and I—well, you don’t need all the gory details—but it’s bad, and this is the only thing I have left. I don’t want to sell it, but I really don’t have a choice.”
“I see.”
“I came here because you have a reputation for fair pricing. And I swear I’m not making all this up like some kind of sob story to make you feel sorry for me. I’d never do that. I just—sorry, I tend to over share.”
The jeweler took off the glasses and laid them on the counter.
Sylvie’s heart sank. He wasn’t going to buy it. She’d be forced to go to a pawn shop, where she’d get pennies on the dollar for what it was actually worth. But the jeweler merely picked up a loupe and began to examine the stones. As her stomach knotted, Sylvie clasped her hands and resigned herself to waiting, while this man determined whether she’d sink or have the chance to keep on swimming.
~*~
Everett paused in front of a case of watches and tried to look like he wasn’t shamelessly eavesdropping. It was a terrible compulsion, but the moment she’d mentioned she was in financial trouble, he couldn’t help but tune in.
She was southern. A drawl underscored the earnest tone as she tried to correct whatever impression she thought she’d given. As the jeweler picked up a loupe to examine the stones in the ring, Everett glanced over at the woman. She wore a good quality red parka, worn but good boots, and seemed properly dressed for the weather. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose braid. It gave him a clear view of her profile and the spots of color riding high in her cheeks. Embarrassment. And some anxiety, he thought, catching sight of the hands she was wringing as she waited.
What had brought her so low that she was selling a piece that clearly meant a lot to her?
“What do you think of this one over here?”
“Huh?” Everett turned his attention to Brandon, crossing to a case on the other side to see what he was pointing out. “No, not marquis. Isabelle has little hands. You want something more delicate. Princess or round.”
The jeweler finished his inspection. “It’s certainly an exquisite piece and there’s a market for antique rings, but you must understand, I won’t be your best bet for maximizing profit.”
“You have a business to run and access to wholesale markets. I get that.”
“I wouldn’t ordinarily bring this up, but given your unique circumstance, I feel I should. I have a colleague down in Denver who deals in consignment. He has a generous 70/30 split of the sale price. With the current market, you’d do considerably better going that route.”
“I appreciate your honesty, but I’m not in a position to wait, and I don’t have a way to get to Denver at the moment. W
hat’s the best you can do?”
Everett shifted so he could see the woman as she took the slip of paper the jeweler offered. Her eyes closed after she read it and she swallowed once, hard.
“I’m sorry it can’t be more.”
Though she looked pained, the woman nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll put together the paperwork.”
As the jeweler disappeared to an office in the back, the woman knuckled away tears and picked up the ring. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Travis elbowed him. “Earth to Everett. How about checking back in to this planet and offering up some opinions.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
As they debated the merits of white gold versus platinum, simple versus ornate, half of Everett’s mind was on the woman.
I trusted the wrong person.
Who would take advantage of such a sweet soul? Or maybe that was exactly it. Somebody thought she’d make a good mark. And evidently she had if she was in deep enough to be here. He wished he could do something to help.
As the jeweler re-emerged, paperwork in hand, Brandon called out, “When you get a minute, we’ve got a few engagement rings we’d like to see.”
“Be right with you.”
“Dude, what’s up with you?” whispered Brandon.
“Nothing. I just couldn’t help overhearing.” He nodded toward the woman.
“Yeah. Sucky situation all around,” conceded Brandon. “Nothing you can do about it, though. Even if there was, she’s gone now.”
Everett whipped around in time to see her striding out the door, heading west.
“What can I help you gentlemen with?” inquired the jeweler, coming around to their side of the store.
Travis slapped Brandon on the back. “My buddy here is looking to get himself hitched.”
“Congratulations, sir. What sort of ring are you in the market for?”
“Actually, can we see the one you just bought?” asked Everett.
“Certainly.” The jeweler retrieved it.