My Christmas Valentine

Promise

♥ Shane ♥

The bell above the jewelry store door chimed with a soft sound that somehow made my heart beat harder. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, blocking out the December cold and the noise from the street. Warm light reflected off the glass displays, which cast small glints from rings and necklaces that lay in neat rows. The shop smelled faintly of polish and something floral. It felt quiet, almost too quiet, like the air itself waited to hear what I would say. A woman appeared from behind one of the counters, and she smiled warmly at me.

“Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you today?” my mouth suddenly felt dry, which was ridiculous. I could talk to a class of twenty people about lunges and squats without a problem, but somehow this felt bigger than that. Much bigger.

“I am here to look at engagement rings,” I said. The words sounded strange and perfect at the same time. Her smile widened, softer now.

“Then congratulations, at least in advance,” she said. “Who is the lucky person?”

“Megan,” I said, and just saying her name steadied me a little. “She owns Sweet Treats, the bakery on Main Street,” recognition lit the woman’s eyes.

“Oh, I know that place,” she said. “I order her cupcakes for my daughter’s birthday every year. She makes a caramel one that my husband cannot stop talking about,”

“That sounds like her,” I said, and there was no denying the small rush of pride that I had no right to feel, but felt anyway. “She puts her whole heart into that bakery,”

“Then we will need something that matches that,” the woman said. She gestured toward the nearest display. “What’s your name?”

“Shane,”

“Wonderful, my name is Lila. Take a breath, Shane. We will find the right one,” she said, and I stepped closer to the glass. Rows of rings sparkled up at me, some delicate and thin, others thick and bold. Different stones, different settings, different styles. The choice hit me all at once, and for a second, my mind went blank. “What is she like?” Lila asked as she rested her hands lightly on the counter. “Tell me about her,”

“She is kind,” I said. “She works harder than anyone I know. She cares about every person who walks into her bakery. She remembers their orders, their stories, their favourite flavours. She loves Christmas. She loves making other people happy. She does not wear a lot of jewelry…so nothing too flashy…she likes simple things, but when she smiles, it feels like the whole room changes,” I stopped, aware that I had said too much and yet not enough. Lila’s smile turned knowing.

“Simple, but special,” she said. “Warm, not cold. She sounds like someone who would want something that feels like her, not something that would just impress other people,”

“That is exactly it,” I said. “I don’t want something that feels like I picked it out of a catalogue without thinking. I want it to feel like her,” Lila nodded and opened the display case with a small key.

“Let us start with the basics,” she said. “Do you know her ring size?” I almost laughed.

“I asked her friend Amy to help me with that,” I said. “I have it here on my phone…” I took out my phone and opened up my text thread with Amy before I showed it to Lila.

“That makes things easier,” she said. “What about style? Does she like yellow gold, white gold, or rose gold?” I thought about the jewelry Megan wore. The small earrings, the thin bracelets that sometimes glinted beneath her sleeves when she worked the mixer.

“She wears more silver colored things than yellow,” I said. “I think she would prefer something like that. Nothing too thick. Something she can wear while she works without feeling like she will snag it on everything,”

“White gold or platinum then,” Lila said. She lifted a tray of rings from the case and set it gently on a velvet mat. “We can look at diamond shapes, too. Round, oval, princess cut, pear. Does she like vintage styles, or more modern ones?” I looked down at the tray. The diamonds caught the light in different ways, some sharp and bright, others softer and deeper.

“I don’t think she would want anything too modern or square,” I said slowly. “Something classic, but not huge. She is not the type to wave a big stone around,” Lila’s fingers moved across the tray, selecting a few rings and laying them in a small line.

“Try looking at these,” she said. “Don’t think about price yet. Just see which ones feel like her,” I started at the left. The first ring had a round diamond, simple and bright, with a thin band. The second had a small row of stones along the band itself. The third had an oval stone that seemed to capture the light more softly. The fourth was more ornate, with small stones surrounding the center diamond. I pictured each one on Megan’s hand. I thought about her sliding trays in and out of the oven, handing change to customers, reaching up to adjust the chalkboard menu.

“The round one feels too sharp for her,” I said. “The ornate one feels like too much. She would worry about it every time she put on an oven mitt,” my gaze settled on the oval stone. The band was simple and smooth, with just a few small diamonds along the sides. It looked elegant but not loud. This was a big decision, and I wanted Megan to know that I truly took my time in picking her a ring. After a moment, I pointed at the one I thought would best suit her. “That one,” I said. “The oval one. It looks like something she would actually wear,” Lila smiled.

“Good eye,” she said. She picked it up with a small tool and held it out so the light could catch it. “This is an oval diamond, white gold band, small accent stones on the shoulders. It is a popular choice for people who want something timeless without feeling too traditional,” I watched the way the stone shone, not in a harsh way, but in a steady glow. I thought about Megan’s hands, often dusted with flour, sometimes marked with small burns from hot trays. Hands that had held mine across a table, hands that had brushed hair from my forehead when I had fallen asleep on the couch after a long shift.

“May I hold it?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said as she placed the ring gently in my palm. It felt lighter than I expected, and yet it carried a weight that had nothing to do with metal. I closed my fingers around it for a moment, imagining the day I would slide it onto Megan’s finger. New Year’s. That had become the picture in my head. Christmas would be for rest, for quiet, for time together. New Year’s would be for promise. For standing with her at the start of something new and asking her to walk into it with me. My chest tightened with nerves, but beneath that, there was a calm, steady certainty.

“This feels right,” I said. “How long would it take to have it sized properly?”

“We have it in the size closest to what you wrote down,” Lila said. “We can adjust it in a few days. Are you planning to propose soon?”

“On New Year’s Eve,” I said. “I wanted to have enough time in case there were any delays,”

“That gives us plenty of time,” she said. “We can have it ready well before then,” she took the ring back gently and noted down the details. While she did, I walked a slow circle around the small shop, trying to get my breathing under control. This was happening. I was buying an engagement ring. I was going to ask Megan to marry me. For a moment, a flash of the past pushed into my thoughts. The years with Casey, the sense that I had been moving along a path without really looking where it led. The quiet, steady realization that we had wanted different things. The guilt of ending something that had been comfortable but not right. With Megan, everything had felt different from the start. Chaos and timing and guilt, yes. Complicated overlaps and hard conversations, yes. But beneath all of that, there had been this sense of clarity. It felt like I had finally stopped walking in circles and had started moving forward. Lila came back to the counter with a small form. “If you are happy with the choice, we can start the process,” she said. “We will resize it and make sure everything is perfect. I can have it ready for collection in four days,”

“Ok,” I said as I took the pen she offered and signed where she pointed. The numbers on the page did not scare me. I could handle the cost. What scared me, in a quiet, honest way, was the scale of the question I would be asking. I paid, and she slid the receipt into an envelope.

“We will take good care of it,” she said. “When you come back, it will be ready for her. I hope she says yes, Shane,”

“So do I,” I said.

♥ ♥ ♥