Cole’s whole expression softened, just like it always did when he thought of Lottie.
‘You have no idea,’ he replied as we stepped onto the sidewalk, heading for the far side of the square, where some of the fancier shops were. ‘That’s why –’ he continued, weaving in and out of people blocking the way, most with their phones out, taking pictures or videos of the scene around them – ‘I’ve kept this quiet. Because my girlfriend has a knack for finding out about everything, and this is the one thing I want to surprise her with.’
I matched his stride as we reached the corner, where he slowed.
‘And that is . . .?’ I asked, trying to get a read on his face.
Finally, he stopped, gesturing towards the store. The jewellery store.
‘That I want her to be my wife,’ he said, smiling as my mouth dropped open.
‘Holy fuck,’ I whispered as I thought about how awesome that would be – the visible happiness they’d both been unable to hide since getting together, cemented for ever. ‘. . . Holy fuck!’ I shouted it this time, grabbing Cole’s shoulder with one hand and clapping him on the back with the other. ‘That’s awesome!’
He received it with a laugh, glancing back at the store window.
‘She hasn’t said yes yet. And wash your mouth out or you’ll get us thrown out of the fancy store, okay?’ he said, watching as I pinched the brim of my hat and nodded.
‘Wait – are you pickingupa ring or pickingouta ring?’ I asked, suddenly realizing the implications of him bringing me along.
‘The last one,’ he murmured, opening the door into beautifully cool air conditioning, which only just counteracted the clammy sensation of knowing he was going to rely on my opinion for something as important as this.
‘Cole, I don’t know shit about rings,’ I whispered, glancing around the glass display cases, the bright white walls and polished wood floors. ‘Why didn’t you ask Hestia or something?’
He didn’t reply, already talking to the saleswoman, someone I vaguely recognized. But then, as most Jackson-born residents had grown up together, it wasn’t so surprising.
‘Jesse, you remember Mrs Cornell? Amber’s mom, from high school? She was in your class, right?’
I drew a blank, smiling as I faked a, ‘Right, yeah, of course,’ response, only to remember just as I shook her hand, her eyes assessing me. She was pretty, with distinctive hazel eyes that I was sure I recognized . . .
A memory hit me: making out under the bleachers, being discovered by the football coach with her hand wrapped round my dick and mine unhooking her bra.
ThatAmber Cornell. Eyes just like her mom’s, apparently.
Cole’s shoulders were shaking slightly again as he leant over a glass case nearby, and I vowed to pay him back for this.
‘Are you settling down any time soon, like Cole?’ Mrs Cornell asked, the polite, cool tone of her question undone by the lift of one eyebrow that told me she rememberedexactlywho I was.
‘Um, maybe, yeah . . .’ I began, strolling over to join Cole. ‘Not quite at the jewellery stage, though.’
She made a humming sound that somehow implied she doubted I’d ever make it there.
‘Well, Cole, just let me know if I can help. Like I said on the phone, I’d stick to something similar to the metals she already wears, and any stones you know she likes. Otherwise, it’s usually just going with your gut, okay?’
He nodded, smiling up at her briefly as she moved over to the front of the store to welcome in another couple.
‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’ I hissed at him under my breath, ignoring the low rumble of his chuckle in response. ‘You knew exactly what you were doing bringing me here, didn’t you?’
He scanned the dozens of rings in the case, resting his hands on the side.
‘I figured you could do with a break from everything recently,’ he said, moving over to the next case on our right. ‘And a reminder of how far you’ve come since high school.’
I rocked back a little, pushing my hat up and staring at the back of his, about to protest. But the progress was undeniable – from Amber and countless encounters in high school, through to buckle bunnies, ending up with a couple of longer, true relationships. Like Chrissy. Sweet, unassuming and . . . just not quite right.
And now Hestia. There was no mould to shape whatever I had with her, no reference point for it. She somehow felt like everything and yet, officially, in terms of labels, nothing – or noonething, at least.
‘I guess,’ I murmured, suddenly fast-forwarding to what this scenario would look like for me and her, whether I could picture myself buying her a ring . . . whether she would ever accept it. Glancing around, I knew this store was as far from Hestia’s vibe as it was from mine. I smiled as I imagined asking to see some rings with colourful stones, preferably a skull or two.
‘You know how much of dork you look every time you think of her,’ Cole said, still not raising his eyes from the rings.
