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…

Sera didn’t care to finish the thought. She had a sudden, powerful urge to whip up a batch of rocky road bars. Somewhere far, far away from here.

“I see the resemblance,” murmured Lupe, eyeing Serafina’s sagging skirt and dog-mussed hair. It took Sera a moment to realize she was talking about—and subtly insulting—both herself and her aunt. “How nice to meet you,” she intoned further, holding out a limp hand for Sera to shake. No calluses or scars marred her perfect mitts, Sera thought uncharitably as she accepted the other woman’s chilly clasp. But maybe those $100 French tips were a requirement for someone who modeled and displayed jewelry for a living. She withdrew her own unmanicured paw as quickly as was polite, hoping her palms hadn't been too revealingly damp.

“Ah… nice to meet you, too, Guadalupe.” Sera drew herself up to her full five feet, two inches. “Well,” she chirped far more brightly than she felt, “I’ve taken up too much of your time, Asher. I’ll get out of your hair now. Got a lot to do if I’m going to get my shop off the ground!” She turned blindly for the door, and caught her scarf—one of Pauline’s brightly colored ethnic jobs, which she’d borrowed to combat the chilly morning air—on one of the countertop earring displays. Bright bits of metal scattered like buckshot, rolling and bouncing across the floor, and she choked as the suddenly tightening fabric grabbed her by the throat. Sera’s face went pink, but it wasn't from lack of oxygen. Even in a lifetime of embarrassing exits, this had to rank in the top ten.

“Oh,” she cried, “I’m so sorry. Here, let me just…” She began frantically trying to untangle the sparkly threads of the scarf from the tines of the earring holder so she could gather the strewn silver items from the floor and make her escape.

Asher leaned across the counter, stilling her hands on the scarf with his own warm, strong ones. “Allow me, Bliss,” he commanded softly. “I untangle jewelry for a living. Lupe, would you please help Miss Wilde with the stray earrings?” he requested. It was clearly a boss-to-employee-type request.

Guadalupe looked as if she'd just bitten down on a raw jalapeño. “Of course,” she murmured through tight lips. She came around the counter on stiff legs and bent over ostentatiously at the waist to collect the loose studs that had rolled across the floor. In her pencil skirt and platform stilettos, her ass formed a perfect heart shape, but the message it was sending Serafina was anything but loving. Whatever the message to Asher, however, Sera was pleased to see he was oblivious to it, engrossed in the fine work of teasing her stubborn scarf free from the wires of the earring tree. His expressive face was intent and his sensitive fingers worked with total focus over the delicate operation of untethering Sera from his artwork. He was so close she could smell that unique Asher scent again—man, metal, fire, fresh air. She tried not to inhale too deeply of its heady aroma, resisting the impulse to reach out and touch the lock of antique gold hair that fell across his brow, just to test if it was as lustrous as it looked.

Just then he looked up, catching her staring. And winked. “Don’t let her get to you, Bliss,” he said quietly. “Lupe doesn’t like women much.” His fingers freed the last folds of fabric, making bold to reach around Serafina’s suddenly sensitized neck and loosen the scarf until it fell free to puddle on the counter between them.

But do you? she wondered, obediently reaching out to take the cloth as he laid it in her palm. She tried not to clutch it like a groupie clinging to some rock star’s discarded sweat rag. And could you learn to like me, in particular? It took an effort of will not to ask.

“I’m tougher than I look,” was what Sera said aloud. It was suddenly very important that this man not see her as some fragile flower. “No one’s ‘getting to me’ unless I let ’em.”

“Good.” Asher smiled. All awkwardness had passed, the lively charm that was his armor firmly buckled in place once more. Sera didn’t know whether to be happy or regretful. “I believe it. You have what it takes to succeed,” he pronounced authoritatively. “That’s how I know Bliss will be a massive success.”

Sera beamed. “Why, thank you.” She felt like she’d just swallowed a cup of sunshine, and could barely contain it.

Lupe stalked up to the glass counter and dropped a handful of solid sterling earrings on it with a rat-a-tat like machine gun fire. “All present and accounted for,” she said with a disdainful sniff, “though some of them may have suffered in the… accident.” The way she sneered the word “accident,” she might as well have pinned a medal for klutziness on Sera’s lapel.

Sera’s sunny feeling clouded over as rapidly as the ever-shifting New Mexico weather. “Oh! I’m sorry… I’ll be happy to pay for any damages,” she hastened to assure them both, her hand fluttering to her shoulder bag for her wallet and her cheeks flaming once again.

Asher stopped her with a hand over her own. That’s twice he’s touched me today, Sera’s lizard brain noted. “Don’t be silly. In fact… I would like you to have these.” He reached, not for the pile of assorted earrings Lupe had gathered on the countertop, but into the display area below, where some of the finest, most obviously costly pieces were showcased. He bypassed a spectacular pendant with an infinity spiral of silver limned in pure gold and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, reaching for a deceptively simple set of small hoop earrings worked in plain silver metal, but with such beautiful balance and weight that they looked still liquid, filled with energy and harmonious grace.

He lifted the delicate earrings out of the case, laying them on his callused palm and eyeing them ruminatively. He glanced up at Serafina, then back to his creation, then nodded decisively. “Yes, I believe these were meant for you. Please accept them as our way of welcoming you to the neighborhood.”

“Our” was probably a bit of a stretch for politeness’ sake. If Guadalupe were in charge of the welcoming committee, Sera had a feeling those earrings would be spearing her eyelids, not her earlobes. How she worked in a jewelry shop with such a lousy attitude toward women was a mystery. But Sera was so tickled, she happily ignored Lupe’s outraged glower.

“I should refuse these,” she murmured, already picking the first from Asher’s palm and fixing it into her lobe. “But I’m just not that virtuous. Thank you, Asher, for this extraordinary gift.” She slipped the second earring into place, and felt the cold metal warm against her flesh. A glimpse into the mirror on the counter showed her what she’d already guessed. The hoops were perfect for her—they went beautifully with her short, angled haircut and made her neck look longer and more elegant. “They’re gorgeous, and I will cherish them. I look forward to repaying you in cupcakes and coffee in the very near future.”