Dylan studies it for a moment, then smiles. “Yeah, it does. It’s even got that same goofy ear tilt.”
The fact that he’s noticed Jhett’s ear tilt, that he knows my dog well enough to recognize his mannerisms in a silver charm, does something strange to my insides.
“That’s much more you,” he says, his voice warm and genuine.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not trying too hard,” he explains. “It’s beautiful because it means something, not because it’s expensive or showy. It’s authentic. Like you.”
I stare at him, momentarily speechless. When did Dylan become so observant? So thoughtful?
“Would you like to try it on?” The clerk has materialized beside us, sensing potential interest.
“Oh, I’m just looking,” I start to say, but Dylan cuts in.
“She’d love to see it,” he says, and the certainty in his voice makes me nod in agreement.
The clerk smiles and unlocks the case, carefully lifting the bracelet from its display. “This is one of our artisan pieces,” she explains, holding it out to me. “Each charm is hand-crafted in sterling silver. The dog charm is particularly detailed—see the tiny collar?”
I do see it, a minuscule band around the dog’s neck that I hadn’t noticed from behind the glass. The craftsmanship is stunning.
“May I?” the clerk asks, gesturing to my wrist.
I nod and hold out my arm, watching as she clasps the bracelet around my wrist. The silver links catch the store’s lighting, giving off a soft glow against my skin. The dog charm dangles at the perfect spot, the details even more impressive up close.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, turning my wrist to see how the charms move.
“It looks perfect on you,” Dylan says quietly, and when I glance up, he’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
I look back down at the bracelet, absently running my finger over the dog charm. “Jhett would approve,” I say with a small laugh.
“There’s space to add more charms over time,” the clerk points out. “Many of our clients build their collection to commemorate special moments or relationships.”
As I admire the bracelet, I become hyperaware of Dylan standing close beside me, of the way his presence seems to fill up the space around us. Of how, from an outsider’s perspective, we must look like a couple—him watching fondly as I try on jewelry.
The thought sends a flutter through my stomach that I’m not prepared for. For a brief moment, I find myself leaning toward him, drawn by some invisible pull that I don’t want to examine too closely.
Then reality crashes back in.
This is Dylan Williamston. Genna’s brother. Professional athlete with a different woman on his arm every weekend. The guy who doesn’t do serious. The literal definition of a player.
I take a small step sideways, creating space between us. Then I notice the price tag dangling from the clasp and nearly choke. The bracelet costs more than my last paycheck. Way more.
“It’s lovely,” I say to the clerk, already unclasping it. “But I’m afraid it’s not in my budget right now.”
“We do have layaway options,” she offershopefully.
“Maybe another time.” I slide the bracelet off and place it carefully in her outstretched hand. It feels strangely sad to let it go, like saying goodbye to something that could have been mine in another life.
“We should probably get going,” I suggest to Dylan, suddenly needing to be out of this store.
“Sure,” he agrees easily, though I catch a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Is he disappointed about leaving, or about me not getting the bracelet? I can’t tell.
As we walk toward the exit, I find myself intensely aware of him beside me—the casual confidence in his stride, the way he automatically positions himself between me and other shoppers, the slight brush of his fingers against mine as we navigate through a narrow aisle.
And I can’t deny the way my body responds to him—the warmth that spreads through me at his proximity and the way my pulse jumps when he smiles.
It would be so easy to fall for him.
