—————————————————————————
Jay's P.O.V.
That smile. I would risk it all for that smile.
We paraded through the shopping mall going to way too many stores.
Tj. Maxx, Marshall's, H&M, Forever 21. If it had "cute clothes" we were there.
Eventually we entered a jewelry store.
"Welcome! Let me know if I can be of any assistance today." The jeweler said.
"Thank you!" I said following after Amaya.
She headed straight for the bracelets.
"Hey, wait a second." The jeweler said.
"Yeah?" I asked in confusion.
"I can sneak in a ring fitting for you, if you need me to."
"Ring fitting?"
"Oh I see. You are already engaged."
"Engaged?" Amaya asked laughing.
I had been so caught off guard, I didn't even notice she was here.
"No, he's just someone I grew up with."
Someone she grew up with.
I felt my stomach turn. How did everything get away from us?
"Oh, my apologies."
We walked around the jewelry store for about 30 minutes, as Amaya collected a plethora of rings, bracelets, earrings and more into her shopping bag.
"Are you gonna wear all of these?" I asked.
"Not all of them. Some are for the girls here, the girls back home, Amira and my mom."
"Did you get any for yourself?" I asked.
"Of course. I got 2 sets of really cute earrings." She said beaming.
That smile.
"Okay then, let's check out."
We walked up to the jeweler, who was still looking a little confused, and began scanning her items.
"Your total is 432 dollars and 25 scents."
Amaya's eyes flew wide open.
"Only?" I asked.
"Only? What do you mean only?" Amaya said to me in shock.
I swiped my card, and grabbed another set of bags.
At this point, I became a human shopping cart.
"I always forget you grew up pretty wealthy." She said laughing a little.
"It's not like I make it a personality trait."
YOU ARE READING
Love in the Old
Romance2 years into University, and Amaya already wishes it was over. She misses her friends, family and her treehouse while also hating her old ex boyfriend.. and her new ex boyfriend ------------------------ Jay has been single for a while now, and has...
