He watched her sit and didn’t know what he’d do if she looked his way.
If she didn’t, he’d die.
“Want to send her a drink?” Freddie offered, ever the peacemaker.
“I’d rather send her my house key, but she won’t accept that token of my affection.” His gut twisted in anguish when he thought about how he’d behaved. Truth was, he hadn’t given her much reason to believe he’d be okay with her wealth. After all, she’d overheard him refer to his mother as a bank. Surely, Jaye didn’t want to be thought of in the same heartless fashion.
“I heard she’ll work with her ex when she moves to Syracuse. He’s a trust fund baby, just like her,” said Freddie. “I guess she’s on good terms with him, huh?”
“No, she’s not. Doesn’t make sense she’s willing to work with him again.” In fairness, Jaye tried to explain but he didn’t let her. Mitch wondered what she would have said if he listened to her side of the story.
He’d managed to salvage his pride, but at what cost?
Across the room, a waitress approached Jaye’s table and took their order.
Mitch grabbed his spoon, pushing his thumb against the smooth handle as he strained to catch the note of her voice through the buzz of conversation and clank of silverware.
Jaye closed her menu and scanned the restaurant. Her dark-eyed gaze slid past him and jerked back, wide-eyed.
Heat engulfed him, hotter than a blast from a furnace. Mitch looked into her eyes, not finding guilt or anger within her warm brown irises. All he saw was a deep, abiding grief that sliced him in two. He felt the spoon give way under the pressure from his thumb, bending over his index finger.
She broke eye contact and paled.
He tossed the mangled spoon onto the table, slid out of the booth, and tossed a twenty beside his plate to cover his portion of the check. “I’m going to the gym.”
With any luck, a heavy weight would fall on his head. A severe case of amnesia would be welcome right now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mitch leaned against his desk and rested his forehead on the heel of his hand. In the back of his mind, all he could see was the calendar. Today was Friday. Jaye would go to Syracuse this weekend and return for three more days. He didn’t know how he’d manage when she left for good. His insides were already cracking into a million fractures.
A brief knock interrupted the silence. He looked up and spotted his father by the door.
“Got a minute?” Nick cleared his throat and glanced at the computer on Mitch’s desk. “I’d like to show you the website.”
“Yeah, sure. Why postpone the future?” Mitch was ready to accept a lifetime of drudgery as punishment for believing in pixies and magic. He pushed the computer keyboard toward his father.
His father typed, hit return, and muttered a curse. Wiping a hand across his brow, he forced a grin. “Might help if I type the right address.”
Mitch watched his father suck his upper lip into his mouth, a habit Nick indulged in on the rare times he was edgy and nervous. Apprehension bled into Mitch’s numbness. What the hell had his father tied up in knots?
A new window opened on the computer monitor. The Blake Glassware logo appeared, transitioning into a sleek, modern header featuring a dazzling photograph of glassware. Color popped from the screen, drawing Mitch’s eye to an attractive menu of selections. Pictures rotated across the page, featuring the factory, the studio’s blazing kiln, and their products.
“Check out these photographs.” Nick clicked on a menu option and the page filled with images of their stemware. “Jaye took these a few days ago. Aren’t they incredible?”
Mitch gazed at the pictures in growing amazement. “Her photographs are better than the ones in our brochure.”
Instead of photographing the goblets in front of a sterile background like their previous photographer had, Jaye staged the stemware in use. Elegant wine glasses full of pinot noir in a formal dining room setting. Glistening goblets filled with milk on a picnic table. She even took pictures of the glasses as candleholders, candy dishes, and flower vases. To his astonishment, Mitch recognized his own scarred kitchen table featuring two glasses filled with ice cubes and water, a picture she’d probably taken while she was waiting for him to come home for dinner.
To quell a twist of pain, he flattened his hand on his abdomen.
“She’s unbelievably talented,” Nick murmured. “I can’t get over how great everything looks.”
“I had no idea she was designing something like this.” Mitch felt like a complete jerk. How many times had she offered to let him look at the website? Every single time, he’d turned her down.
Nick glanced at Mitch. “Do you like the website?”
“It’s…” Awe, regret, and disbelief tumbled through him. He stared at the monitor and swallowed what little spit he had in his mouth. “Stunning.”
His father grinned at the monitor like a kid with a new toy. “She set aside a section to feature our glassblowing studio.” Nick clicked on the tab in the navigation bar and a picture of Mitch filled the screen. “Look at this. See how the orange light from the furnace plays across the concentration on your face?” Nick pointed to the next picture and let out a laugh. “She even caught you smiling. Priceless.”
His father scrolled down the page, jabbering about the close up of Mitch’s hands working a piece of glass and the wide-angle shot of him pulling a gather of molten glass out of the furnace. “When I see that furrow in your brow, I know you’re deep in concentration.”
Mitch heard the gruff note laced through his father’s voice. It was…pride.
Nick’s smile wavered. “I hope you don’t mind this next page.” He clicked on another tab and a new series of pictures appeared.
Shock punched his gut, flattening the sandwich he’d choked down for lunch. “Why are my sculptures on the web?”
“Jaye wanted to showcase
