Page 31 of Put a Rink on It

Something I choose not to consider even the slightest bit.

Call me foolish, but I’m staying in the present.

I glance over at Nero, his eyes trained on me. “What?”

“Your hair looks good today. What did you do differently?” He twists a strand around his finger.

“I, um, didn’t turn down Juliet’s offer to join her at the salon yesterday. It didn’t need a cut, but a hairdresser washed it, blew it dry, and used some fancy curling tool to style it. I was shocked when I woke up and it was pretty much as it was when I left the chair.”

I shouldn’t be amazed he noticed—when is the man not surprising me—but it’s always weird to me how in tune with me he is, even with subtle changes.

A new nail color. A haircut. A new pair of sneakers.

Somehow, he notices it all.

“I like it. Flatters you. You should find out what the tool is so you can learn to do it.”

“I’ll get right on that,” I wisecrack with an eye roll. I do okay with my hair, but I’ve never had the desire to spend hours making it look this good.

The car pulls up at another curb, and the partition falls. “Same deal?” the driver asks.

“We may be longer. The other store’s on the other side of the street. We can chance a walk over there.”

“Sounds good, boss.”

The moniker doesn’t faze Nero.

Outside the car with the door closed, I whisper, “Do you know him?”

“Nope, hired him from a reputable company a teammate recommended. Will definitely use his services again as the need arises.” With that, he slips his hand in mine, walking us into the store.

This store isn’t as big as the last, and there’s more of an intimate feel, whereas the other one was commercial and overdone. My eyes take in the different glass cases with all the jewelry, some of it so big and ostentatious, I can’t fathom the expense, nor why someone would need something so outlandish. But I’m sure someone will.

“Mr. Champion,” an older man greets, acknowledging me with a small wave. “We’re so happy to have you. Come, let me show you what I’ve put aside for you.” He turns on his heel, assured we’ll follow him. He walks us down a long hallway toward the back of the store, the room similar to the last one in the sense of size, though there’s a lot more bling on the table. “Have a seat, and we’ll get started.”

Nero and I shed our winter gear and place it on the empty chair before Nero pulls out another for me to sit. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before, but there’s a little more exaggeration to it today. Probably only obvious because I know him well.

Amina gave me the sense she cared about my needs, not only what Nero wanted. Here, I’m getting the sense it’s about impressing Nero, which, knowing him, he won’t tolerate.

My eyes skim over the diverse rings, and I’ll give credit to Nero for choosing ones to match my style. Nothing is too gaudy or extravagant, but elegant and tasteful. Mostly round, a handful of square, a few oval, and a princess cut one that immediately steals my attention. So much, my fingers reach out to touch it, stopping short when I realize I’m not sure if I have permission to.

“See something you like?” Nero asks from my side, hope in his tone.

I point to the one catching my eye. “This one.”

The jeweler picks it up and dives into a spiel about the ring. I’m too busy admiring the way it shines and glitters to listen to any of it.

It’s freaking gorgeous.

Two carats if I had to guess.

Princess cut, solitaire, prong-set on a platinum band.

Sunlight shines in through the small window, catching on the ring, and I gasp.

“Try it on.” Nero’s words don’t register until he grabs my hand and forces it forward so the man can slip it on my finger.

I always thought men who bought their wives “big” rings had something to prove. I never considered what it means. Ma’s is decent-sized, just under a carat, about the same size as Tate’s. Juliet’s is a little bigger because Hunter has a better-paying job than Walsh and what Dad could have afforded years ago. All three are beautiful in their own way.