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“How do you know all this stuff?”
“My dad used to be a jeweler…and a guitar store owner and a car salesman and a stereo salesman and a flooring salesman. I know all kinds of useless information, thanks to his inability to keep a job.”
Allen smiled weakly. “It’s not useless if it gets Amy back.”
I beamed back at him. “It will.”
Ken had wandered off again. I peered over my shoulder and found him lazily perusing a case full of expensive watches. Hand in his pocket, stubbled square jaw, navy-blue sweater clinging to his toned shoulders and biceps. If I didn’t already know him, I’d be drooling. At Jason’s house, he was just one of the guys, but out in the wild, where I could watch him from afar, he was breathtaking.
“Here you go,” Karen announced with a fake smile as she placed a black velvet-lined tray on the glass case in front of us. “These are all of the white gold bands we have that are already fitted with princess cut diamonds in your price range. But we can always swap out—”
I snatched a ring off the tray and slipped it onto my finger, ignoring the rest of her speech. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. It was a white gold band with tiny square diamonds inlaid across the front, but unlike a traditional engagement ring, the prongs held the large center diamond so that it hovered over the band. You could see all four sides of the crystal-clear stone and even a sliver of space underneath, as if it were floating.
“You like that one?” Allen asked, narrowing his eyes as he inspected the rock on my left hand.
“Uh-huh,” I murmured, staring at the rock on my left hand in a daze.
“Let me see…” Allen leaned over to get a better look, but I jerked my hand away and sneered at him like Gollum guarding my precious.
“Not this one,” I blurted. “It’s not…Amy’s style. Like, at all. I’m pretty sure she’d hate it and dump you all over again.”
“Jeez. Fine,” Allen mumbled as I pointed at the tray of other perfectly acceptable engagement rings.
Ten minutes later and after much reassurance from Karen and me, Allen bought Amy two rings—a beautiful white gold engagement ring with a romantic filigree design and a wedding band to match.
Ken had magically appeared during the checkout process to grill Karen on the interest rate and compounding, revolving something-or-other of the store credit card she was trying to get Allen to open.
Evidently, “Twenty-one percent,” was the wrong answer because Ken snatched the credit application out of Allen’s hand as if it were about to self-destruct.
Then, he reached into his own wallet and handed Karen his Mastercard.
When Allen asked what the fuck he was doing, Ken said, “Saving your ass a couple grand in interest. You can just pay me when you get the money.”
It was really sweet—in a Ken kind of way.
As we exited the store, Allen gave me a huge hug, little black gift bag in hand, but when he went to hug Ken, he stopped mid-lunge.
“Thanks, man,” he said, dropping his arms with a sheepish smile. Then, flicking his eyes back and forth between us, he added, “I’ll just meet you at the car.”
I floated back to Macy’s on a static-charged cloud. I was excited for Allen, but mostly, I was excited about the fact that my arm kept touching Ken’s as we walked.
It didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t my type. He’d never once come on to me. And he was about as emotionally available as a cucumber. But there was an intoxicating current of energy surrounding him that I couldn’t get enough of. I knew that electric charge was meant to keep people out, but I was a defiant little shit. I was the girl who unwrapped her presents before Christmas because her parents had told her not to. I was the girl who pushed red buttons marked Do Not Push. And, when we got back to my department, I was the girl who hugged Kenneth Easton even though he did not do hugs.
I don’t know if it was because we were in public or if I’d just imagined our connection the night before, but for whatever reason, Ken was as stiff as the starched collars on the men’s dress shirts just down the hall.
“Thanks for coming,” I whispered into his ear, my voice low and husky.
“Yep,” Ken replied, standing straight up, causing my hands to fall away from his neck.
I forced a smile despite the scalding slap of rejection and embarrassment staining my neck and cheeks pink.
“I, uh…” Ken buried his hands in his pockets. “I get off at six tomorrow…if you want to grab dinner.”
Huh?
I nodded with my eyebrows pulled together. “Sure. Yeah. I’m off on Sundays, so—”
“I know,” Ken interrupted.
“Oh. Right.” I smiled.
“Right,” Ken echoed.
I waited until he made it all the way to Men’s Fragrance before I let out the dramatic, wistful sigh I’d been holding in.
“Okay, he cool, but you have got to work on yo’ hugs. That was not even a little bit smooth.”
I turned around and glared at my co-worker, who was shaking his head at me in disapproval. “Shut up, Jamal. Nobody asked you.”
