And now I’m doubled over in the front seat, laughing until I have tears in my eyes. “Jewelry stores—donot—have—return policies,” I gasp out.
“They don’tadvertisereturn policies,” he counters. “Who’d do that?Fellas, get her some bling for her birthday. If she says no, we’ll double your money back.Not happening. Doesn’t mean they don’t have return policies. We should go ask.”
“Dane—”
“My grandmother was staring at your hand last night too.”
“I’m splitting the cost with you.” My credit card is groaning at the debt this charade will cost me. But if our ruse makes our families call a truce, it’ll be worth it.
“Not necessary.”
“I got you into this—”
“—and I insisted on playing along. Until we find a solution to your Gingerbread House problem, I have more to gain than you do. I’m buying you a ring.”
We have a stare-down in the front seat even if my heart blips at the reminder that we have no plan for the Gingerbread House.
Only a plan for ending a feud.
Which won’t solve the bakery problem.
He kills the motor on the car.
Which means the air-conditioning peters off.
I have exactly forty-two seconds before this car gets too hot to continue this stare-down. “You play dirty.”
“When we break up, we’ll auction the ring off as the ring that brought peace to Tinsel, and they can donate all of the proceeds to charity. Maybe to fighting family charities. That’s money well spent.”
“I repeat, you play dirty.”
He grins again. “Shall we go find you the ring of your fake dreams?”
I grab his hand. “Promise me we’ll stay friends after this is over.”
He studies me, his smile slowly going more serious. “Are you a friend who keeps in touch every month or a friend who runs into someone after three years and picks back up right where you left off?”
“Is there a wrong answer if I want to stay your friend?”
He shakes his head. “I just like knowing what to expect.”
“I’ll send you memes that make me think of you and you can call me if you ever want to talk, and then whenever we’re in Tinsel at the same time, we’ll have eggnog lattes and you’ll bring the fruitcake and I’ll bring vegetables, and we’ll have a picnic at the lake.”
His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles at me. “Your optimism is inspiring.”
“Iwillsend you memes.”
“I believe you. Let’s go get a ring.”
The heat’s already rising in the car, and he’s getting out, so it looks like my options are sweating it out solo in the car or agreeing to walk into the jewelry store.
I don’t have to let him buy me anything.
We can look and say there was nothing that inspired either of us or fit right.
He opens my door for me and takes my hand as I step out, then holds it all the way into the store. “Donotgive them any suspicion that this is fake,” he murmurs as we walk in.
Not that I would—if we’re not telling Lorelei, we’re certainly not telling a stranger. But it becomes apparent immediately why he’s concerned.
