Running my fingers through my hair, I pull the ends up and tug. It’s a bad habit of mine, to play with my hair. It’s surprising I’m not bald, to be honest. I take deep breaths until an idea comes to me. “I could shop at her store. Mom’s birthday is coming up. I’m sure she’d like more jewelry. A woman can’t have too much jewelry, right?” Jesus, I need to stop talking to myself. A plan is forming in my mind, and I think I like it. I can’t do it so soon after the jogging trail debacle, so I’ll wait a week from today to stop in to the store on Mom’s actual birthday. Yeah. That should work.
The seven dayspass by at a snail’s pace, but it’s finally Friday, Mom’s birthday. I dress in my favorite jeans, soft and worn at the knees from years of wear. People pay good money for jeans just like these, but I’ve created them on my own. I slide on a faded gray T-shirt that says “I Wonder If Tacos Think About Me Too…” My sister bought this for me a couple of years back because tacos are my favorite food group. I could eat them every day for every meal. No joke. That’s why I have to work out at least four times a week. Addiction, thy name istacos. It’s a funny shirt, and if my first impression of MacKenzie is right, she’ll laugh when she sees it. I pull out my black Converse tennis shoes and a black hoodie. I’m probably underdressed for her store, but I need to look casual.
At approximately fifteen hundred hours, I step intoOne of a Kind. I’ve already cased the place, so I know she’s workingand that she’s got her hair pulled up into some messy bun thing on top of her head. Her bright auburn tendrils are falling loose like they’re just not quite long enough to stay put. She’s wearing a pair of black slacks that highlight her phenomenal ass and a plain black V-neck sweater. It’s simple but elegant and sexy as fuck. She’s wearing flat shoes, no doubt because she’s on her feet all day long. She’s been to lunch, and MacKenzie is now back working in the store alone, something I really don’t like. She’s in the back room when I step into the store and begin casually looking through the cases. I really do need a gift for my mom, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to find anything for her here. She’s got particular tastes.
I’ve relaxed and become immersed in the search when I hear her voice. “Hi, can I help you find anything?” I look up, and she sees my face. I hear a tiny gasp, but she stays calm. She corrects herself quickly and gives me a shy smile.
“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for a gift for a special lady.” I’m not sure why I said it like that.
“Oh, okay,” she says tentatively. “Can you give me an idea what you’d like to buy for your wife or girlfriend?”
I don’t answer her because I like how she sounds a little sad—wondering about my marital status. “I’m not sure yet. Let me walk around, and when I see something I like, I’ll let you know.” I like her. I wish I could just takeherhome.
“Oh, okay. Sounds good.” She steps away and moves to the opposite side of the store.
I glance through the cases in the center of the store, then make my way around the perimeter. When I reach the jewelry case in the furthest corner of the shop, near the back room, I see something perfect. I pull myself up to my full height and search for her. She’s watching me and biting her nail from her spot near the front of the store. “Miss? I’d like to see this necklace.”
She rushes over to me, pulling her set of keys from her pocket. “Which one?” she asks eagerly.
I point down to the delicate gold necklace below me. “That one.”
She gives me a beautiful smile. “Oh, that one is mine,” she says proudly.
“Yours?”
“Yes, I made that one.” She reaches into the case and brings out the long necklace, placing it on a pad of velvet.
“You? You made this?”
I think I’ve offended her, because she looks a little defensive. “Of course. The entire necklace was made by hand.”
“What do you mean?” I’m sincerely curious. The thing has got to be three feet long and made up almost entirely of delicate links.
“Well, I use small sheets of gold and hammer them down until they’re very thin. Then I cut them into hairlike strips to make the links.”
“Seriously? Can’t you just buy gold chain links?” Seriously, why would she do that?
“Well”—she places her hands on her hips—“because I can’t buy them the way I like them and it’s more personally authentic to do them myself. Besides, I like that each link is unique.”
I bend down to get a closer look. Sure enough, each tiny link in the chain is different, varied. “What are on all of these little gold dots?”
“On the discs are things from the sea like fish, coral, etcetera. There are ten in all. I’ve hand engraved or embossed them all. They’re placed every three inches.”
“This is unbelievable. My mom grew up in Nantucket. She loves the ocean. I’ll take it.” It’s seriously perfect for my mom.
I think I’ve shocked her. “But, um, it’s twelve hundred dollars,” she says, emphasizing the price.
“That’s it? For all the work you did on this, I’d think it would be double that.”
“Uh, well….”
“Can you gift wrap it for me?” I’ve really thrown her for a loop.
“Sure. No problem.” She takes the necklace and steps into the back room. Stepping back out, she asks, “Did you say this was for your mom?”
I smirk. “Yeah.” Relief washes over her face. “You know what? Do you have another one of those necklaces?”
Her eyes double in size before she says, “Well, um, not here. I’m working on another one, but there are insects on the disc shapes. It’s the same length—thirty inches long, but it’s in white gold.”
