“Thanks, I think.”
The jeweler returns holding out another shiny ring. “This one is a six millimeter cabochon cut with a strong, vivid blue flash. The rose gold compliments it nicely.” He hands it to me. “Ten diamonds around the center stone and two on the band.”
The slight changes give the ring a tighter, neater overall look so the setting can be better appreciated. The cut of this stone gives it a more moon-like appearance and the color flash is much more vibrant. Even the crescent moons on either side of the center stone seem smoother and more defined.
“This one.” I set the ring on the tray.
“What’s the lady’s size?” he asks.
Well, shit.
My blank expression must say it all. Jigsaw’s mouth twitches. “You’re here to buy a ring and you don’t know her size?”
“Impulse purchase,” I grumble. “Wait.” I snap my fingers. “She made a joke about her underwear, ring, and shoe size all being the same once.”
Jiggy jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Want me to go through her underwear drawer?”
“No, you clown.”
“I’m serious,” he insists. “I’ll take one for the team if you need me to.”
The clerk’s eyes dart back and forth between us, like he’s calculating the advantages of kicking us out versus making this sale.
“I know her shoe size,” I growl.
He taps his chin and peers up at the ceiling. “You are weirdly obsessed with her feet. Buying her all those boots and shit.”
Ignoring Jiggy, I lift my chin at the jeweler and give him the size.
He beams and plucks the ring off the tray. “Perfect. Then it’s all yours today. If she needs any adjustments, stop in and we’ll take care of it.”
My chest squeezes. I’m really doing this. Asking Shelby to marry me. Holy fuck.
“You have any earrings with a similar feel?” I ask, darting a look around the store.
“Really?” Jigsaw mutters.
“Actually, I have something that would complement the ring nicely.” The jeweler slides open one of the cases and pulls out a stand with a pair of glittering stars dangling from long, thin rose gold chains. “They’re opal, not moonstone, but we could make—”
“No, these are perfect.”
He nods and collects both items, walking them over to the cash register.
“Isn’t that going to, I don’t know,” Jigsaw hesitates and wiggles his hands around, “make the ring less special?”
“I haven’t decided when or where I want to propose, but I want to give her something when I get back to Nashville.” I slap his shoulder. “That all right with you?”
“Sure, sure.”
The jeweler quotes a price that makes Jigsaw choke. Given the quality of the pieces, I’m not as shocked. I hand over my credit card without comment.
Outside, Jigsaw shakes his head. “You’ve been Mr. Frugal for basically as long as I’ve known you.”
“Never had anyone I wanted to spend money on, I guess.”
“Damn, brother.” He rubs his hands together. “So, how are you going to propose?”
I stare at the display window where the jeweler’s busy replacing the ring that drew me into the store, then at the bag in my hand.
“No fucking idea.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Shelby
“This is the address.” Angelina ducks her head, re-reading the email Dawson sent earlier.
Neither of us is familiar with the area. The dress shop appears cared for but there’s no sign of life.
“Maybe they got the time wrong?” I shiver and glance around the parking lot, empty except for Angelina’s rental car. “This better not be like the setup for some dumb horror movie,” I grumble.
She laughs and tucks her phone away. “Like we’re the two hot, but not bright, chicks about to be slaughtered in the opening scene in order to introduce the crazed psycho killer who’ll terrorize the town after our mutilated corpses are found?”
I shoot a glare at her. “That was way too specific.”
The guy who finally answers would look normal enough answering the door on Halloween night with a bowl full of candy. But his neat, wholesome-dad sweater vest seems a bit warm for the weather and at odds with his pointy red cowboy boots.
Angelina and I slide nervous gazes at each other. Is this who we’re counting on to dress us for the CMAs?
“Shelby?” he asks in a thick accent that sounds more Mississippi than Tennessee to my ear.
“That’s me.” I force a bright, eager smile.
“Clifford Holtzclaw.” He extends his hand and I quickly shake it. “Lovely to meet you.”
His gaze lands on Angelina.
“This is my friend Angelina. Dawson told us to be here at ten. Are we early?”
“Not at all.” He opens the door wider. “Come in.”
“Wow,” I breathe out as I step over the threshold.
“Wow is right,” Angelina mutters low enough that only I can hear her.
The bright lighting inside bounces off gold designs embossed in the mauve wallpaper. And for a moment that’s all my brain can process.
Gold everywhere.
Gold and pink velvet chairs. Pink brocade couches with carved wood accents. Ornate gold mirrors on every wall. Chandeliers dripping gold, hanging from the ceiling. It’s like we’ve been transported to a countryside estate in eighteenth century France. A kinda tacky one.