Page 29 of Own the Eights Gets Married
“Take a moment to look. Think about what you love most about her, then choose,” the old man instructed.
“No pressure, right?” he asked.
Why the hell was he so nervous?
Jordan gazed down at the multitude of rings when a sparkling number caught his eye.
“Could I see that one?” he asked.
Hans slid a black velvet display tray out from under the glass and gingerly removed a band.
“A very good choice, Mr. Marks. Pavé diamonds in platinum.”
“Right, that’s what I thought. Pavé makes a mean ring,” he answered, trying not to sound like someone who’d never heard of a pavé diamond.
“Pavé is French for paved. It’s a type of setting where the diamonds are close together as if the ring is paved with the gems,” Hans replied.
“That must have slipped my mind,” he answered with the worst comeback in jewelry knowledge history.
Holy pavé fuck balls! Who was he trying to kid?
He stared down at the bank of rings, swearing they’d doubled or tripled in the short amount of time he’d been in the room. There were so damned many of them.
“I think Georgie would love thispavéring,” he said, staring at the sparkly circle.
The man nodded and slid the band onto a black velvet finger-looking object.
“And for yourself?” Hans asked.
“Something simple. I don’t wear jewelry, no offense, man,” he added, wanting to punch himself in the mouth for, again, sounding like his brain was pavéd with crap.
“None taken, Mr. Marks,” Hans replied.
“And when I was a kid, I learned I had a nickel allergy,” Jordan added, remembering the awful rash he’d gotten from a cheap gold chain he’d worn in a failed attempt to look cool in middle school.
“I see,” Hans replied, selecting a tray. “I’d suggest choosing a platinum or titanium band. Those, unlike gold, do not contain any nickel.”
Jordan watched as Hans placed the tray of nickel-free rings on top of the glass.
“You’re a fitness trainer, correct?” Hans asked.
“Yes, and I operate my own gym.”
“Then I’d suggest the titanium. It’s hypoallergenic, and it resists corrosion from sweat or chlorinated water.”
Jordan gazed at the sleek rings. “Really?”
“See what you think of this one with beveled edges,” the kind man suggested, passing him the silver-colored titanium ring and teaching him what a beveled edge was. He would have called them ridges, but if he’d learned one thing today, it was that he may be able to knock out a thousand push-ups in one training session, but the mental stamina it took to choose something the size of a quarter damn near wiped him out.
“Beveled, huh,” he said, sliding the band onto his ring finger, then stilled.
“It appears the ring is a perfect fit. I’ll record your size, so we have it,” Hans said, taking a small notepad from his breast pocket and jotting down the information.
Jordan couldn’t pull his gaze from his hand.
“It hits home when you put it on, doesn’t it, Mr. Marks,” Hans observed, pocketing the notebook.
Jordan continued to stare at his hand. “Yeah, it sure does.”
