Once Upon An Heirloom
The sidewalks were packed with people. Crowds moved in steady streams in and out of the shops lining the cobbled streets, juggling bags and packages. In general, they moved with frenzied purpose and a serious lack of holiday spirit. As he wove his way through them, Everett William Sperry, III wondered why in God’s name Brandon felt the need to meet at the Taproom in the midst of all the holiday crazy. This is what on-line shopping is for. To avoid this insanity. Also to avoid all the bell ringers, because he had absolutely no defense against them and felt compelled to drop a substantial donation into every charity bucket he passed. But Brandon had declared a state of emergency, so Everett had come.
Snow swirled from the pewter sky in fat, wet flakes, sticking to his lashes, his clothes, rapidly slushing up the street of the massive outdoor mall. The hike back to his car when this was over was going to be lots of fun. Everett hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind blowing down from the mountain and picked up the pace. The sooner he got there, the sooner he’d thaw out.
Up ahead, someone burst out of the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, flinging the door wide and barreling onto the sidewalk. A middle-aged woman in a puffy pink coat jerked to a halt in an effort to avoid being smacked in the face by the door. The abrupt motion had her feet sliding, the arms full of bags beginning to pinwheel. Everett leapt forward, skidding, and reached for her. The bags went flying, but he managed to catch the woman before she hit the cold, hard ground. The man who’d come out of the chocolate shop never even noticed, already halfway down the block with a cell phone pressed to his ear.
Nothing like Christmas to bring out the Grinch in people, he thought.
Planting his feet, Everett righted the woman. “You okay?”
“Oh my gracious.” She laid a hand over her heart. “You saved me from a broken tail bone at the least.”
“Least I could do. Nobody wants to spend Christmas sitting on a donut. Here, let me help you with that.” Everett knelt and gathered up the scattered purchases.
“Thank you, young man,” she said, accepting the collection of bags. “Somebody clearly raised you right.”
He flashed a smile. “My mama will be happy to hear it. You have a merry Christmas, now.” Everett waited a minute, watching to make sure his rescuee really had her footing back before continuing the remaining couple of blocks to the Taproom.
The moment he stepped inside, his face and hands began to sting from the heat. Stomping the snow from his boots, he scanned the room, looking for his friend. Brandon sat at the bar, thumbing his phone.
Stripping off the damp layers, Everett crossed to him. “Okay, I’m here. What’s the emergency?”
“I need your help with something,” said Brandon, kicking out the stool beside him. “Sit down. Have a drink.”
Everett draped his coat over the back and sank down onto the stool, loosening his scarf. Because he was frozen through, he asked for coffee instead of a beer. “I swear, if you’ve dragged me out in this mess to help you with your Christmas shopping, I’m going to murder you.”
“Not exactly,” said Brandon. His hand drummed the bar in rhythm with the jazzy version of “Jingle Bell Rock” playing in the background. His cheeks were faintly flushed and his mouth seemed to be at war between deadly serious and goofy grin.
“I’m guessing by your expression that nobody died, so what’s going on?” Everett nodded thanks to the bartender as she filled a mug to the brim.
The grin won the war. “I’m going to propose to Isabelle.”
Everett waited a beat as that sank in, then grinned himself. “Dude, that’s awesome!” He clapped Brandon on the back. The little brunette had kept his friend besotted for nearly a year now. They were great together. “Am I here to help you plan the thing? Some kind of epic surprise? Will there be a flash mob? We should get Travis in on this.”
Brandon lifted a brow. “Flash mob? Do I need to be investigating your YouTube viewing history in order to stage an intervention?”
“I blame my mother. She keeps sending me videos of these epic proposals. I don’t know if she thinks this is going to prompt me to find a woman or what. Anyway, if you need a plan, I’m your man.”
Brandon waved that away. “No, no, I’m fine on the how. Or I will be. Still working on that. And Travis is on his way. I want your help in picking out a ring.”
“My help?” asked Everett. “Not that I’m not flattered to be asked, but why?”
“Well, apart from the fact that this is a big step and I want my closest friends with me when I do it, I want you there because you know about this stuff.”
“‘This stuff,’” he repeated.
“Jewelry. Diamonds and stuff,” Brandon clarified.
“And I know about this how? Because I’ve got a generational suffix after my name?”
“Because with that blue-blooded upbringing of yours, you’ve been exposed to the real deal. You know quality when you see it. And you know how to use that eyepiece thing jewelers use.”
“A loupe,” offered Everett, picking up the coffee, warming his hands.
“Yeah, that. This is a big deal. I’ve gotta get it right.”
The door opened again and Travis walked in on a swirl of snow and frigid air. He strode over. “Sorry I’m late. What’s going on?”
“Brandon here is looking to follow in your footsteps,” said Everett.
“Huh?”
“I’m asking Isabelle to marry me.”
Travis whooped. “This calls for a celebration!”
“Save the celebration for when she says yes,” said Brandon. “We’re going ring shopping.”
“Want me to call Alicia for a female opinion on this consult?” asked Travis.
“Absolutely not. This is man’s work,” said Brandon. “There’s some kind of unwritten rule or something that you lose points if you need a girl consult.”
“Besides, I’m supposed to know about these things,” Everett put in.
“Well, alright then,” said Travis. “Finish your drinks and let’s get to work.”
~*~
As she paced in front of Vandevelde Jewelers, Sylvie Noll cursed Neal Harrier eight ways from Sunday for being a lying, sneaky, yellow coward dog scumbag. Then she chastised herself for insulting the dog.
How could I have been so stupid to have been taken in by that cretin? she wondered.