All I Want Is You by Toni Blake Page A

things my grandma used to wear.”
    She nodded easily, replying, “And I’m going to turn them into things that girls my age want to wear.”
    Curious, he met her gaze. “What do you mean?”
    â€œI upcycle old jewelry. You know, take something old and make it new again, give it a new life.” He must have looked perplexed—­and he kind of was—­since she went on to say, “Here, I’ll show you what I mean,” and lowered her glass to the coffee table before starting across the room toward some shelves.
    A moment later, she’d opened an old multi-­tiered jewelry box and returned carrying more jewelry. But only as she stretched out the necklaces, then extracted one from the rest, could he see what she’d created. She’d taken a bunch of glass beads and fake pearls and strung them together on three strands that twisted slightly around one another to make a thick necklace that, even to his uneducated eye, looked much more modern and stylish than the original pieces could have.
    His first thought: He was mildly surprised to discover a deeper, more creative side to the sweet but money-­driven Alice. His second? Remembering her watching him work and telling him she liked seeing things come together. That made more sense to him now. And almost led him to think they might have a little something in common.
    â€œThat’s really cool,” he told her. Then wondered aloud, “What made you think to start doing that, taking old jewelry apart and making new stuff from it?”
    â€œMy love of old jewelry stretches back to my childhood, to time spent with my own grandma. She wore that kind of jewelry, too,” she added with a cute wink. “Grandma Livvy let me play with her jewelry when I was little, and then she started giving me older pieces she didn’t want anymore, and as I grew up, reworking them became a hobby.”
    â€œDo you give some of the new pieces to Grandma Livvy?” he asked.
    â€œI used to,” she said. “She died right after I graduated from high school.”
    Damn—­how quickly he’d forgotten that she had no family except her grandpa. Or maybe he’d chosen to forget. That she was alone. And that, really, she seemed pretty darn brave. Well, brave if he forgot about her trying to bag a rich man. “Sorry,” he said, feeling sorry for far more than just his forgetting, or her loss.
    â€œI wish she could see the pieces I’m turning out now—­I’ve gotten better at it over time and I like to think she’d be impressed.”
    â€œI’m sure she would,” he replied. “What do you do with the pieces you make now?”
    She lowered her chin, her expression going surprisingly timid. “So far I give them to friends. I’d love to be able to sell them someday, but . . .”
    â€œBut?”
    She sighed, then turned away, walking back to the jewelry chest and lowering the pieces inside. As she closed the lid, he got the odd sensation that she was closing herself up at the same time. She still faced away from him as she said, “I guess I haven’t had the time or energy to pursue that since my parents died. I’m not even sure how I’d go about it.”
    Jack suffered the urge to respond in lots of different ways. He wanted to tell her to make the time, and to follow her dreams. He wanted to tell her about the dreams he’d followed. He wanted to ask how her parents had died. And he also kind of wanted to give her a hug. But he didn’t do any of those things. Because he barely knew her, after all. And she wasn’t the only one who could close herself up. In fact, for him it probably came even easier.
    Though he wished she’d stop seeming so damn sweet now. Resisting his attraction to her had felt simpler back when she’d seemed crazy and reckless. But maybe this would get back to being simpler if he returned his focus to the