But as we look at the third tray, something changes. Cheyenne’s smile fades slightly, her eyes growing distant as she gazes at a simple solitaire diamond set in platinum. Her fingers hover over it but don’t touch, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that makes my chest ache.
“You like that one?” I ask, my voice softer, dropping the exaggerated tone.
She startles slightly, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “It’s nice,” she says, but her voice is hollow.
The clerk, sensing a potential sale, immediately pulls the ring out. “This is a beautiful choice. Classic, elegant, timeless.”
Cheyenne nods absently, and I watch as she slips the ring onto her finger. It fits her perfectly, like it was made for her. The modest diamond catches the light, sending tiny rainbows across her skin.
“It’s beautiful on you,” the clerk says, and for once, I agree with her. It is beautiful. Cheyenne is beautiful.
But she’s looking at the ring with such a complicated expression—part longing, part pain—that my playful mood evaporates. I remember suddenly that just a couple weeks ago, she was in a long-term relationship. That maybe she had been expecting a ring from Garrett at some point.
The thought makes me want to punch something.
Cheyenne must sense the shift in my mood, because she glances up at me, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “What do you think, baby?” she asks, the endearment falling flat.
I don’t know what to say. The teasing words I had been throwing around so easily just minutes ago feel stuck in my throat. Instead, I just look at her, really look at her, and say, “It suits you.”
Three simple words, but they hang between us, heavy with meaning I didn’t intend but can’t take back. Cheyenne’s eyes meet mine, searching for something I’m not sure I know how to give.
The clerk, oblivious to the tension, beams at us. “Would you like to know more about this particular diamond? The cut is excellent.”
Cheyenne slips the ring off her finger and hands it back to the clerk. “No, thank you,” she says quietly. “I think I’d like to look at something else.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cheyenne
“I’m going to look over here,” I say, not waiting for a response as I drift toward another display case across the store.
My heart is hammering in my chest for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely. Our little act was fine when it was just silly, when we were looking at rings so enormous they bordered on comical. But that last one—the simple solitaire that fit my finger perfectly—hit too close to home.
The clerk looks disappointed, but I can’t bring myself to care. I need space. Space from the diamond rings and their promises. Space from Dylan’s arm around my waist, which felt both foreign and somehow right. Space from the memory of Garrett telling me I wasn’t marriage material. That I was “too childish” for a seriouscommitment.
The worst part is, being in this store, surrounded by symbols of adult commitment, I can almost see his point. Maybe Iamtoo childish. Maybe that’s why, at twenty-seven years old, Istillhaven’t found someone who wants to build a life with me. Maybe that’s why my mom left me behind for her new sophisticated European life with her surgeon husband.
“Hey, you okay?” Dylan asks, making his way over to me. He sounds genuinely concerned, our playful charade from earlier long gone.
“Fine,” I say automatically.
“We can leave,” he offers.
“In a minute,” I say, needing a moment to compose myself. “Just ... give me a second.”
His eyes study my face for a moment before he nods, understanding without pushing. It’s a side of Dylan I’m still getting used to—this perceptiveness, this ability to read me. Has he always been like this? Have I just never noticed?
I continue walking, trying to put more distance between myself and those rings, when something catches my eye in a display case near the back of the store.
I pause, leaning closer to the glass.
Inside, there are several charm bracelets. They’re nothing like the gaudy, blinged-out pieces from the front of the store. These are subtle, feminine, with carefully chosen charms that tell stories rather than scream wealth.
And there, right in the center, is a silver bracelet with a tiny dog charm that makes my heart skip. The little silver dog is poised mid-run, one paw lifted, ears perked forward in a way that reminds me so much of Jhett when he’s excited that I can’t help but smile.
“Find something?” Dylan asks, coming to stand beside me. His shoulder brushes against mine as he leans in to see what’s caught my attention, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of his proximity, of the subtle scent of his cologne.
“That bracelet,” I say, pointing to the one with the dog charm. “The charm looks just like Jhett when he’s about to pounce on his favorite toy.”
