Chapter Thirteen
Dylan
The early evening air nips at my face as we step out of the café, but I barely notice it.
Something about Cheyenne’s presence beside me feels warm, like I’ve got my own personal sun walking with me down this sidewalk.
It’s weird how comfortable this is—just the two of us, no Genna between us, no pranks to plan.
Just walking, existing in the same space, and somehow it doesn’t feel awkward at all.
“Which way?” I ask, glancing down at her. The holiday lights strung across the street cast a soft glow on her face, highlighting the curves of her cheekbones and the slight upturn of her lips.
“I don’t care.” She shrugs, pulling her coat closer around her. “I just know I’m not ready to go home yet.”
Those words shouldn’t make my heart skip like they do. But here we are.
“Downtown?” I suggest, nodding toward the main shopping district where all the storefronts are lit up for Christmas. “They’ve got the big tree up.”
“Perfect.” She falls into step beside me, close enough that our arms brush occasionally. Each time sends a little jolt through me that I try to ignore.
We walk in comfortable silence for a block, the sounds of the city a backdrop to my thoughts. Cars passing, distant laughter, Christmas music spilling from open doors as we pass restaurants and bars. It’s Saturday night, and the streets are alive with people celebrating the weekend.
“Downtown at Christmas was always my favorite,” Cheyenne says as we fall into step together. “My grandma used to bring me to see the lights when I was little.”
“Yeah?” I glance at her, noticing how the pink in her cheeks matches the flush from the cold. “My mom dragged us every year for the Christmas parade. I used to complain, but honestly, I kind of loved it.”
“You? Complaining? I’m shocked,” she teases, and there it is again—that easy laugh that’s making my stomach do weird flips. “I bet you were the kid in your class who said Santa wasn’t real just to make the other kids cry.”
“Hey now,” I protest, shoving my hands in my pockets to resist the weird urge to thread my fingers through hers. “I was a perfect angel.”
“Uh-huh.” She gives me a sidelong glance that makes me laugh. She looks up at the strands of white bulbs crisscrossing above the street. “I love this. It’s like walking under the stars.”
“Totally.” I watch her face as she takes it all in, struck by how genuinely delighted she seems by something so simple. “When’s the last time you looked at Christmas lights?”
“Gosh, it’s been years,” she admits. “Garrett never really cared to go see them.”
“That’s a crime,” I reply. “Mandatory Christmas light appreciation should be legally enforced.”
She laughs. “I’ll be sure to add it to my calendar for next year.”
Next year. The phrase hangs between us, and I wonder if she’s thinking what I am—that maybe we could do this again. That maybe this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.
But that’s ridiculous. This is Cheyenne. My little sister’s best friend. The girl who’s seen me at my absolute worst and most embarrassing moments growing up. The woman who just got out of a serious relationship with a total jerk.
And yet...
“Oh, look at that display!” She stops suddenly, pointing to a storefront decorated with miniature animated skiers zooming down tiny snow-covered hills. “That’s adorable.”
I hang back, watching as she presses closer to the glass, her eyes wide with childlike wonder. She’s always been like this—able to find joy in the small things. I’ve known her for years, but somehow it feels like I’m seeing her clearly for the first time.
“Come look.” She waves me over without looking back, completely confident that I’ll follow.
And I do.
We continue down the street, stopping at nearly every window. We linger in front of a bookstore with some leather-bound classics on display that Cheyenne sighs over.
“Gosh, that might be the most beautiful edition of Pride and Prejudice I’ve ever seen,” she says, pointing to the teal book with gold lettering. “It’s my favorite story of all time, I think, and seeing it in leather like that is just ... wow.”
“Well, maybe if you’re a good girl, Santa will bring it to you for Christmas.” I wink.
We then stop at a toy shop with a train set that reminds me of one I had as a kid, which leads to me telling her stories about how Genna and I used to fight over who got to control the speed.
“You were such a brat.” She laughs, shaking her head.
“I was the older brother! It was my job to be a brat,” I defend myself, grinning.
“And you took that job very seriously.”
“Still do.” I wink at her again, and for a split second, something shifts in her expression—a flash of something I can’t quite read before she looks away.
We approach the block of downtown where the high-end stores begin. Designer boutiques, art galleries, and—right on the corner—Meridian Jewelers. Their window display is tastefully excessive, with black velvet backdrops showcasing diamond necklaces, watches, and rings lit up like they’re on stage.
Cheyenne slows as we near it, her steps becoming hesitant. I almost keep walking, but something makes me pause, turning to see her gazing at the window display.
“See something you like?” I ask, moving back to stand beside her.
“Just looking,” she says quickly, but her eyes linger on a display of engagement rings. “It’s all so beautiful.”
I study her profile as she watches the light play off the diamonds. There’s something wistful in her expression that tugs at me. Before I can overthink it, I hear myself saying, “Want to go in?”
Her head snaps toward me, eyebrows raised. “What? Why?”
I shrug, aiming for casual even as my heart rate picks up. “Why not? Could be fun. Plus it’s warm in there, and we’ve got nowhere else to be. I promise to make it entertaining.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay, sure. But just for a few minutes.”
The door chimes softly as we enter, announcing our presence to the hushed, elegant space inside. The lighting is soft but deliberate, designed to make everything glitter. Glass cases line the walls, filled with treasures that cost more than most people’s annual salary.
A woman in a tailored black suit approaches us, her smile professionally warm. “Good evening. Welcome to Meridian. How can I help you today?”
I glance at Cheyenne, who suddenly looks like she wants to bolt. Something protective rises in me—I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. And then, before I can fully process what I’m doing, I slide my arm around her waist and pull her close to my side.
“We’re looking for engagement rings,” I announce. “I think it’s finally time to make it official.”
I feel Cheyenne stiffen beside me, but to her credit, she doesn’t blow my cover. Instead, she looks up at me with wide eyes that I can only hope the saleswoman interprets as affection rather than shock.
“How wonderful! Congratulations,” the salesclerk says. “How long have you two been together?”
“Eight years,” I say confidently, pulling a number out of thin air.
Cheyenne nods along. “Yes, we met in college. He was the older hockey star, and I was ... the ... the mascot.”
I bite back a laugh. “It was love at first sight. For me, anyway. She took some convincing.”
“He was very persistent,” Cheyenne adds, leaning into me with unexpected ease. “Still is.”
The clerk leads us to a display case in the center of the store. “Well, young love is always so refreshing to see. Now, did you have something specific in mind for the rings?”
“Something that really makes a statement,” I say seriously. “My honey deserves the best.”
Cheyenne pinches my side discreetly but keeps smiling.
“Of course.” The clerk unlocks a case filled with rings that probably cost more than my first contract. “These are some of our finest pieces.”
“Baby, you know I don’t need anything flashy.” Cheyenne leans into me.
“Nonsense,” I counter, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head before I can stop myself. Her hair smells like vanilla and something uniquely her. “Only the best for the love of my life.”
The clerk pulls out a tray of rings, each diamond bigger and more elaborate than the last. I pick one up, a monstrosity with a center stone the size of a small marble surrounded by dozens of smaller diamonds.
“What do you think, sweetie?” I hold it toward Cheyenne. “Big enough to see from space?”
She giggles, playing along perfectly. “I don’t know if my hand could support the weight.”
“True. You might tip over.” I put it back and point to an even more ridiculous one. “What about that one? With the halo that looks like a UFO landing pad?”
The clerk’s smile tightens slightly, but she maintains her professionalism. “That’s one of our most exclusive designs. The center diamond is five-carat, E color, VVS1 clarity.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, having no idea what any of that means. “Let’s see it on you, Pookie.”
Cheyenne stifles a laugh as she holds out her left hand, and the clerk slides the massive ring onto her finger. It looks like a Christmas ornament someone attached to her finger.
“It’s ... something,” Cheyenne says.
“It’s gorgeous on you,” the clerk insists. “The way it catches the light is extraordinary.”
I lean close to Cheyenne’s ear, whispering just loud enough for the clerk to hear, “It looks like a snow globe had a baby with a chandelier.”
Cheyenne snorts, trying to cover it with a cough. “Maybe we could try something a bit more ... subtle?”
“Of course.” The clerk looks slightly deflated but quickly rebounds, pulling out another tray. “Perhaps something more classic?”
We go through two more trays of rings, each one more extravagant than the last. I keep up the act, calling Cheyenne every pet name I can think of—”sugar,” “angel,” “cupcake”—each one making her lips twitch with suppressed laughter.
But as we look at the third tray, something changes. Cheyenne’s smile fades slightly, her eyes growing distant as she gazes at a simple solitaire diamond set in platinum. Her fingers hover over it but don’t touch, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that makes my chest ache.
“You like that one?” I ask, my voice softer, dropping the exaggerated tone.
She startles slightly, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “It’s nice,” she says, but her voice is hollow.
The clerk, sensing a potential sale, immediately pulls the ring out. “This is a beautiful choice. Classic, elegant, timeless.”
Cheyenne nods absently, and I watch as she slips the ring onto her finger. It fits her perfectly, like it was made for her. The modest diamond catches the light, sending tiny rainbows across her skin.
“It’s beautiful on you,” the clerk says, and for once, I agree with her. It is beautiful. Cheyenne is beautiful.
But she’s looking at the ring with such a complicated expression—part longing, part pain—that my playful mood evaporates. I remember suddenly that just a couple weeks ago, she was in a long-term relationship. That maybe she had been expecting a ring from Garrett at some point.
The thought makes me want to punch something.
Cheyenne must sense the shift in my mood, because she glances up at me, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “What do you think, baby?” she asks, the endearment falling flat.
I don’t know what to say. The teasing words I had been throwing around so easily just minutes ago feel stuck in my throat. Instead, I just look at her, really look at her, and say, “It suits you.”
Three simple words, but they hang between us, heavy with meaning I didn’t intend but can’t take back. Cheyenne’s eyes meet mine, searching for something I’m not sure I know how to give.
The clerk, oblivious to the tension, beams at us. “Would you like to know more about this particular diamond? The cut is excellent.”
Cheyenne slips the ring off her finger and hands it back to the clerk. “No, thank you,” she says quietly. “I think I’d like to look at something else.”