“Both of us dating Brittanys with expensive taste,” the guy says. “We should start a support group.”
“I’m down,” I say, chuckling.
“What’s next? She’s a cheerleader too?”
My smile falters. “She is.”
“Holy fuck,” he says, then catches himself. “Sorry,” he adds to Deb, who’s busy shaping a perfect bow out of ribbon. “This is getting weird.”
“Wait, you’re not serious?—”
“Dead serious. She cheers for State.”
“Mine too.” I feel a knot start to tighten in my stomach. “But I mean, there are a lot of girls on the team. I think there’s like thirty.”
“Yeah, lots of Brittanys apparently,” he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced either.
Something feels off. I turn to Deb. “Hey, could you grab his order too? The necklace.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” She looks at the guy. “What was the name?”
“Chase,” he says. “Chase Morgan.”
Deb’s eyebrows pull together as she checks the screen. “Let’s see… Morgan… Morgan…” Then she disappears into the back and returns with another black box, a little bigger than mine.
“Here we are.” She pops it open and lays the necklace carefully next to my bracelet. The rose gold catches the light. “Oh! They’re from the same set. What a coincidence.”
My mouth goes dry.
“What’s your Brittany’s last name?” Chase asks quietly.
“Foster,” I say. My whole body feels like I’ve just been dropped into ice water. “Yours?”
“Foster.”
We stare at each other. The Christmas music keeps playing. Someone a few counters over laughs, and the sound echoes across the store.
Deb looks between us, then at the jewelry, then back at us. She clutches her pearl necklace with one hand. “Oh dear. Oh my goodness. In thirty years of retail, I’ve never…” She clears her throat, then pats the counter gently. “Well. The good news is these are still within the return window. Brightstone gives thirty days on fine jewelry.”
Chase sits across from me,both of his big hands wrapped around a coffee cup at the mall’s food court, though he’s not drinking it. The bracelet and necklace sit in their boxes on the table between us. We thought about returning them, but neither of us could bring ourselves to.
“So what the fuck, man?” he says.
“Yeah.” I stare at my cappuccino. The barista made a Christmas tree in the foam, and it’s starting to melt. “What the actual fuck.”
“How long have you been dating her?”
“Three months. You?”
“Since September.” He shakes his head. “So about the same. We met at one of my games. Said she’d never dated a football player before.”
“She told me she was tired of jocks,” I say. “Wanted someone more… artistic.”
Chase lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Man, I feel like such an idiot.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I rub the back of my neck. “Last night she was at my place, being all sweet, talking about how excited she was for our first Christmas together.”
“She told me she was helping her roommate through a crisis yesterday.”
