The pieces themselves were nearly all sterling silver, with just a few gold accents and semiprecious gemstones. Some had inlays of smoothly polished, fine-grained wood or iridescent seashell, bringing an organic, living feel to the pieces. Like the chain she’d seen around Asher’s neck at their first meeting, they were substantial, imposing works of metal, but they had a flow that was anything but clumsy. Neither masculine nor feminine, overly intricate nor plainly modernistic in style, still the jewelry sang. Clearly, Asher had been inspired by the fluid lines and shapes of the musical instruments with which he’d surrounded himself. Sera spotted a superb ring made of patinaed silver that swirled just like the neck scroll of a violin, while a pendant displayed in one of the wall cases was elegantly reminiscent of a cello's curves without flogging the likeness too literally. There were very few items she wouldn’t want to own, though the discreet price tags tucked beside the pieces told her there were few she could easily afford.
Sera turned a slow circle, taking in the welcoming golden lighting, the cozy but not claustrophobic feel, and noticed, toward the back, an area with a workbench and tools. She drifted closer. A scarred wooden jeweler’s table and cabinet with multiple cubbies above it showed that Asher must do at least some of his crafting right in the shop. She could appreciate how appealing that would be to his clientele—just as her customers had once loved being able to see the face of the person who’d baked their delectable desserts and wedding cakes, those who purchased his wares would no doubt proudly show them off to their friends back home. Sera pictured it. A well-dressed, middle-aged matron would boast to her lady friends at her next dinner party: “Yes, isn’t it lovely? I got it when George and I went out to Santa Fe last year. It’s from the most amazing little shop. The artist was sitting right there, making the jewelry before our eyes! And I don’t mind telling you, Helena, he was quite the handsome fellow! Don’t tell my husband I said so, or he won’t be feeling as generous anytime soon.”
Sera smiled at her own fantasy. Then she looked over at Asher, who had braced himself behind the far counter, which held a small display stand of less expensive pieces—mostly bangle bracelets and simpler rings—for impulse buyers, plus a cash register and credit card machine. The expression on his face was… anxious? Could her uber-confident, utterly laissez-faire landlord actually be nervous about what she thought of his business? The notion warmed Serafina. As a craftswoman herself, she knew how tough it was to constantly offer up one’s most beloved creations to the world—in effect, inviting strangers to critique one’s life’s work—and how necessary it was to receive approbation once in a while. Asher Wolf deserved it. As an artist, he was clearly wildly talented and deeply in his element. But it was good to see he had his insecurities, too. Blake certainly had had none.
“It’s lovely, Asher,” she said simply.
That quicksilver grin flashed across his lips again, and she could see his shoulders relax. “Thank you. Would you like to see anything in particular while you’re here? Or did you just want to talk business now that you’ve buttered me up with that phenomenal babka?”
Sera made a rueful face to hide how much the compliment pleased her. “Much as I’d love to waste half your morning trying on each and every one of these lovely works of art, I did come here to discuss some business matters with you. But if you don’t mind, I’d also like to ask a few questions. Your store is fascinating.”
Sera crossed the shop diffidently to stand beside him, looking over his shoulder at some of the photos and knickknacks arranged on the far wall, where a small door led to what she assumed was a back office or storage area. The store appeared empty but for the two of them, and the intimacy of it struck Sera in a way that made the comfortable temperature inside seem to ratchet up several degrees. Still, Asher didn’t seem particularly aware of any unusual vibe in the air between them, and he certainly wasn’t acting on it, even if he was. Just as before, his manner was friendly, engaged, as if his internal energy was a force he focused on any and all guests as a matter of courtesy and genuine, good-hearted curiosity about people. Yet something was held in reserve, Sera sensed. This was merely the public persona of Asher Wolf, and as magnetic as it was, somehow Sera was dead certain there were wells of his soul still completely unplumbed. What, she wondered, would it be like to have one hundred percent of that charisma devoted solely to her?
Best not to ask questions when you can’t handle the answers, Sera-my-girl, she admonished herself.
But Asher seemed happy to answer the questions she did dare to venture. “Certainly, Bliss,” he invited. He busied himself stacking a bunch of the elegant, treble-clef-embossed gray jewelry boxes with his store’s name on them into a neat tower on one side of the counter. “Ask away.”
Where to start? There was so much about him that bore comment. “Well, I… I couldn’t help noticing the foliage outside. Is gardening a hobby of yours?”
Gah, could I possibly sound more banal? Sera wanted to smack herself upside the head, Homer Simpson–style. She might as well have asked him if he liked sports or if he was a fan of coffee.
“A necessity,” he replied, unaware of her chagrin. “I’ve always been deeply connected with growing things—a habit instilled in me by my mother, whose garden was like another child to her. Back in Israel, the climate was much like here in many ways, and our plants required similar coaxing to flourish. I suppose I started tending my storefront garden as a way to remind me of my home and my family. And then I got carried away.
“I hope it wasn’t presumptuous,” he continued, “but when Pauline didn’t seem to mind, I allowed my garden to encroach onto her shop front. You’ll probably wish to get rid of it all,” he said, looking as though he was trying to be brave, “and of course, I will be happy to take care of that for you.”
“No—don’t,” Sera found herself saying, though she had been wondering if the wild, overgrown look really suited a bake shop. “I mean, yes, I think we’ll have to cut back a little—maybe more than a little,” she amended frankly, “but I would absolutely welcome your talented hands on my property.”
A gleam entered Asher’s eye, and Sera realized what she’d said. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! I didn’t mean… that is, I just meant I’m terrible with plants, and you’re clearly the opposite, and I’d love it if you’d…”
Asher’s shoulders were shaking with merriment. But his eyes were kind. “I’d be happy to be your personal gardener, Bliss,” he said gently. “And of course, we’ll take the greenery only as far as you wish.”
Now why did she feel like she was on a first date, with a boy promising not to venture past first base without permission? Don’t lose yourself in a fantasy, Sera, she warned herself. You’ve only just put yourself back together.
“Thank you, Asher. But this is all assuming you’re okay with the bakery at all, and that’s why I’m here.” She faced him squarely. “I came to ask, do I have your permission to run an eating establishment on your property?”
“Are you kidding?” Asher said. “After a taste of that babka, no one could refuse. The thought of having access to baked goods that tasty all day long…” He rolled his eyes rapturously. “Besides, as I said, my customers are always in a better mood to buy when their stomachs are full. If someone is wavering over a purchase, I shall simply send them over to your establishment for a sugar and caffeine infusion while they dither. You will have coffee, I presume?” he asked as if her refusal would break his heart.