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“A dozen in total.”
He nodded. “When do you need them?”
Her plan was to go back to L.A. right after Labor Day. “A week from now?”
“Okay,” he said, carrying the bulb around to the back of the counter, where he reached for a pad of paper.
“Okay?”
“I’ll custom make them for you. Exactly like this one?”
“You’d do that? I mean, yes—exactly. Of course, the coloring swirls can be different, but similar colors and sizes.” Still in awe, she reached for her wallet. “I’ll pay in advance.”
He held out a hand. “No need, dear. When you come back to get them is fine.”
She put her wallet back slowly, glancing around the shop. Other than a few beach photos and a few decorative surfboards hanging on the walls, there was nothing inside but the shelves of blown-glass items. There had to be five hundred different pieces—all unique in some way. “These are really incredible.”
“It’s my life. It gives me joy. I don’t even worry about selling them…it just passes the time, you know?”
She nodded. “Well, they are beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
She cleared her throat. “I didn’t receive your invoice…for the yardwork.”
“There’s no invoice. I did it for Dove.”
Her chest tightened. “Well, I could use the help if you’re interested in continuing…but I’d insist on paying you.”
He smiled, and his eyes looked ten years younger. “I think I’m getting a little old for the work now. Besides, it was just for her.”
Sarah nodded. “Okay, I understand.”
Unfortunately, she understood too much and not enough at the same time. Her stomach knotted as she tried to picture him as a young man… It could be the man in her grandmother’s journal, but she couldn’t know for sure without his name.
“I’ll have these ready for you next week.” He tore the slip of paper off the notepad and folded it, then tucked it under the glass bulb on the counter.
“Great. Thank you.” She hesitated.
Just ask. Ask him his name.
Maybe she could find the information online. Chickening out, she put on her sunglasses and headed toward the door.
“Sarah.”
She stopped.
“Your grandmother would be proud to see the place and what you’ve done with it. It looks just like it once did,” he said.
The words warmed her. “I hope so.” She paused. She had to know what her gut already did. “I’m sorry…what was your name?”
“Jack Harrison.”
“Nice to have met you, Jack,” she said, hurrying out of the shop and away from any other answers she wasn’t sure she was ready for.
…
Wes kissed Marissa’s forehead as he tucked her into bed that evening. “Okay, time to sleep.”
