AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Then she turned and walked away. He got to work, shoving away thoughts of Bronte and everything she’d said about London. She only knew about London because she’d specifically asked. Otherwise, she would have no idea.
But he had to admit, in the quiet space of his own mind that the last few days with London did make him feel different. The quiet of the shop felt different. He’d quickly become accustomed to her singing and dancing, cursing when things went wrong.
It wasn’t until hours later that he remembered that he did in fact sign on for Bronte to do more classes. London had fucked with his brain more than he’d thought.
ChapterThirteen
Ezra had done well for the past day and a half. He hadn’t called London at all, even though he’d wanted to just show up at her place. He might not be the smartest man alive but even he knew that showing up uninvited wasn’t a good way to keep a woman’s interest. She’d texted him last night when he was already in bed and they chatted via text for a while, talking about the projects they’d been working on.
Tonight, they had tentative plans for him to come by with her tree toppers. Part of him wished that they broke while in the annealer because then she’d be forced to come back to the studio to make more. But he wasn’t that much of a dick.
He barely saw Bronte all day. She’d been busy in the shop and talking to people about scheduling her next class. When it was time to grab London’s tree toppers, he got suddenly nervous. He wanted them to be good for her.
Standing in front of the annealer, he hesitated to open it. She’d made three. Surely at least one would be okay. He’d never had every product he made break.
“You might as well get it over with.”
He looked over his shoulder at his sister.
“If they’re all crap, you can bring her flowers to cheer her up.”
He shook his head. “I think she’d prefer a bottle of wine.”
Without waiting for Bronte’s snarky comment, he swung open the door. As he grabbed the first topper, he saw that the top half listed to the side. “Fuck.”
Setting that one on the table, he reached for the second one, but he didn’t have to touch it to know that it was broken. There was a split down the side. He took a deep breath and reached for the third. Carefully pulling it out, he inspected it. It was in one piece and it was straight. He turned it in his hands and found no cracks.
He turned to show Bronte, but she was beside him with a padded box for him to set it in.
“She really did it, huh?”
“Looks like it.”
“You heading out now?”
“No. I have a few more things to wrap up here. You can head out if you want. Just lock up the front.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need me to cover tomorrow. You know, if you’re too busy or tired from celebrating.” She winked and walked away.
He put the box on his desk and went to finish the vase he was making for another commission. He worked fast but not carefully, and it came out a little misshapen. London on the brain was not good for his work ethic.
He decided to take a quick break, have some water, and reset his brain. Sitting on his stool, he took out his phone and scrolled through social media and the news. An article popped up that caught his attention.
It wasn’t so much the article as the image attached to it. A red piece of glass that was shaped eerily like the one he had sitting in a box in his office. He opened the article.
Chicago Businessman to Auction One-of-a-Kind Maxwell Tree Topper
The headline set off sirens in his head. When he’d seen London’s sketches, he’d had a nagging feeling of familiarity but he couldn’t place it. Now he couldn’t escape it. His father had taught him about this piece. The fame it had brought Maxwell drove him into isolation.
Why would London want to imitate this?
Could her mother have a thing for a Maxwell imitation? Possibly, but not likely. From the very beginning when London had told him about her proposition, he’d had an uneasy feeling but ignored it.
What the fuck was she up to?
He began replaying conversations they’d had. Then he remembered her notebook and how she’d been sketching famous art. And the one in her studio she was working on the other night, saying it was a commission to work on her skills.
Skills, my ass. She’s a forger.
