“Absolutely,” Sera promised. She wouldn’t be much of a recovering alcoholic if she didn’t mainline several cups of strong coffee a day.
“Then, so long as you promise not to burn down the store—and pick up the insurance costs—I can see no downside.”
“Well,” Sera felt compelled to warn, “I did have a lot of renovations in mind… there’d be electrical work, probably some significant demolition and remodeling…”
“We’ll work out the details, Bliss,” Asher said firmly. “And I am very happy you are to be my neighbor—and tenant.”
“So am I,” Sera said, feeling another warm glow engulf her. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be falling under his spell… and that wasn’t what she’d come to Santa Fe for.
She shook her head to clear it. “So what’s with the violins?” she asked, changing the topic.
Asher’s long, sensitive fingers stopped tidying cardboard boxes and began to stack receipts. Sera had the sense she’d made him uncomfortable, though she couldn’t quite say how she knew. Perhaps it was that he’d stopped meeting her gaze; his own moss green eyes turning inward with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Sadness? Regret? “Oh, that. I’m asked that question frequently.”
Sera cursed herself for being just like the tourists who must plague him with stupid questions all day long. But seriously, given the décor, it was a valid question, wasn’t it?
“And…” she prompted, leaving the question hanging in the air.
Asher stopped stacking. “I used to be a luthier, back in Israel,” he said.
Was it her imagination, or had his answer been just a shade curt? Reticence, or something stronger? Sera couldn’t tell. She only knew she’d blundered into tricky territory.
“A luthier?”
“A violin maker,” he clarified.
“Oh! Wowza. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who actually makes musical instruments before.” Sera was fascinated by the picture of the artisan as renaissance man—a master craftsman who could work wonders in wood as well as metal, and whose knowing touch tamed and cultivated growing things with seeming effortlessness. She’d never met anyone who could coax so much beauty from the elements of nature around him. She couldn’t help pursuing the topic, though she took her cue from his behavior and trod as lightly as she could, asking the most innocuous follow-up she could think of. “Do you play as well?”
“No,” he said.
And didn’t elaborate.
His body posture had changed, however, his loose-limbed stance going rigid and his warmth retreating.
What did I say? Sera wondered.
Before she could attempt to find out, however, she received a shock that knocked the very question from her mind.
They weren’t—and had never been—alone in the shop. Without warning, the door to the back room behind Asher snicked open, and a sylphlike woman glided forth.
Long, lustrous black hair. Impossibly smooth olive skin that looked like it had been buffed and polished with pure gold. Sloe eyes of golden brown beneath winged brows a nineteen-forties movie star would have paid a premium for. And she topped it all off with a body that said, quite frankly, “Mine’s better than yours.” The woman slinked up next to Asher clad in an emerald silk blouse and tight-fitting black pencil skirt more suited to a corporate boardroom than a quaint tourist-town boutique, leaning familiarly close to him and eyeing Serafina with something less than warmth.
The bottom dropped out of Sera’s stomach.
Wife? Girlfriend? God, how stupid was I to assume a guy like Asher would be unattached! But hadn’t Pauline said he was single? The proprietary way this chick stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Asher screamed otherwise.
The two made a striking couple, she had to give them that. Good looks galore, from their bronzed skin to their dramatically chiseled features, his old-gold hair contrasting beautifully with her inky tresses, their tall, statuesque bodies straight out of a catalog.
Unlike Sera’s dinky frame, which could charitably be called hourglass, but was definitely more “give-it-a-squeeze” than “ravish-it-senseless.” She crossed her arms under her breasts uncomfortably.
“Oh! Gosh! I had no idea anyone was back there,” she blurted out—too loudly. “Asher, is this your wife?”
Great, Sera. Reeeeal suave. While you’re at it, why don’t you just ask him how many kids they’ve got, and whether the sex is any good? She looked down at her feet, hoping vainly for a trapdoor that might conveniently swallow her up. She must have looked a total fool, bringing this guy treats and complimenting his shop like some giddy high school girl. She could tell herself all she liked that she was just being friendly, but Sera knew there’d been more than casual goodwill in her heart when she’d come here today toting goodies. And Asher was no dummy—he had to have sensed it. No wonder he’s been so nice, but so utterly un-flirty, she thought. He’s been humoring me. Humiliation washed over her. With a woman like this one in his life, he wasn’t straying anytime soon.
When she dragged her gaze back up to assess how her oafish question had gone over, it struck Sera that her distress was only exceeded by Asher’s own, though the woman at his side had straightened proudly at the association she’d drawn. Immediately, she realized her guess had been way off. The light in Asher’s eyes had dimmed, and he looked almost… sick? When he replied, after a pause that went on long enough for Sera to regret the hearty kashi-and-soymilk breakfast Pauline had urged upon her earlier, he spoke slowly, as if just remembering how after a long, solo journey. His usual vigor had deserted him, and Sera had a sinking surety she’d been the one to steal it.
“Not my wife, no.” He gathered himself visibly, and when he spoke again, it was with a simulacrum of his usual energy. “Bliss, this is Guadalupe. She assists me in the shop. Lupe, I’d like you to meet our new neighbor, Serafina Wilde—she’s Pauline’s niece.”
His assistant. Ah. Well, that made sense. Asher couldn’t man the shop every minute. He would need someone to help out, possibly more than one someone. But what else does she assist Asher with? Sera couldn’t help wondering as the woman squeezed in even closer to her employer. Asher didn’t seem uncomfortable with it, but neither did he respond to her nearness with the kind of enthusiasm that would indicate a romantic relationship. Not that Lupe would mind if he did make a pass, Sera guessed. From the way the woman was eating Asher alive with her eyes, it was obvious that if he wasn’t her conquest now, she’d every intention of changing that situation soon. She was pumping out fuck-me pheromones at such an alarming rate, Serafina felt embarrassed sharing the same room with the two of them.
Well. This puts the kibosh on any ideas I might have had about throwing my hat in the ring for Asher’s affection, she told herself. And hell, that’s for the best. Not only could I not compete with Lupe's brand of femme fatale-ry, I had no business considering flirting with my landlord anyhow. A man like Asher, sexy from top to toe, belonged with a woman who was his match—a woman he could have gorgeous babies with and fuck senseless night after night. Not someone who…