Page 110 of Puppy Love

“It isn’t just for relationships,” they say afterward. “It can be for self-love, too.”

I frown. “I don’t believe you.”

“Look it up,” Hayden says.

So I do. And right there, in an article about rose quartz, Ruby is proven to be correct. And another article. And another. I look up at them.

“That still doesn’t mean—”

“—Cam,” Hayden interrupts. “Don’t you think Violet could use some self-love?”

It’s funny because, if you asked me that two months ago, I would have said no. I would have said that Violet seems as if she loves herself enough. I would have believed it too.

But the way she talks about her parents, the way she always helps everyone but herself, I can’t say I believe it anymore. I can’t say Violet loves herself as much as she should. That she appreciates how remarkable she truly is. I sigh.

“Do you have one that isn’t shaped like… that?”

Ruby shakes their head, and Hayden smiles.

“Nope!”

Hayden holds up the stone again, the light pink shimmer between his fingers not unlike the gleam in his eye. I let out a loud huff and look at him and Ruby.

“Fine,” I grumble.

thirty-four

Rose Quartz

Violet

“Was it you?”

Brooke stands in front of me, a beaming smile across her face as she holds out a Staples gift card.

Okay, I know that sounds like a terrible Secret Santa gift, but if you knew Brooke, you would know it’s everything she could ever want. I try not to let a smile break across my face, to not give it away, but it forces itself out of me.

“Maybe.” I grin. Brooke throws her arms around me, squeezing tightly.

“You are the best!” she squeals, jumping up and down. I chuckle.

“Yep! Have fun with your… sticky notes,” I tease. Brooke waves a hand in the air.

“Sticky tabs,” she corrects. “And I will. Merry early Christmas boss!”

I wave at her as she skips, literally, out the front door of the facility. I look at the clock.

7:02.

We closed a little over thirty minutes ago, but since it’s two days before Christmas, everyone stuck around to hangout, eat snacks customers had brought us, and show off their Secret Santa gifts.

I think my Santa forgot because, when I checked my locker this morning, it was empty. That’s okay, of course. I don’t need physical gifts. And besides, Christmas isn’t really my favorite holiday anyway. Ruthie and I always spent it alone because the casino held an annual Christmas tournament, which our parents always attended. We’d trade our old toys with one another as presents. Sometimes, we’d make paper snowflakes and tape them around the living room.

Through the window, I can see Cam’s car still parked in the lot, a thick layer of snow draped over it. I think about that day in the rain, when I gave her a ride. And the week after, when I considered, very briefly, unhooking the battery so it could happen again. I would never do that now, knowing how much that car means to her. If I could make him last forever, I would.

27“I’m heading out,” I say, watching as she tediously oils the straight-edged shears in her hands. Cam’s eyes flick up to me, light pooling in her eyes as they lock onto mine. She sets her shears down and props a hand on her hip.

“That’s it?” she asks, her brows furrowing. “You’re going to be in Clarkston for a week and all I get is a ‘I’m heading out‘?”

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