Page 21

CHAPTER 21

ETNA

Today is the first day of our week off. Unsurprisingly, we booked a lot of wedding shit for this week that we need to get out of the way. Today’s task is rings and attire. Both seemed pretty straightforward when we booked them on the same day in our calendar.

There was some debate about whether there was appropriate clothing to walk into a jeweler’s shop in. And then a formal men’s wedding shop. Most of the time, Keno and I are in some version of gym clothes, unless it’s game day and we’re in suits and then our gear.

I’m surprised I own anything other than those three categories of clothing. But alas, I do. I put on a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. The jeans make it less dressy, but these are the only shirts I own other than tees. Since they can be dressed to fit into any style, they work for every occasion. And they’re as soft as clouds.

“We going to Jarel’s?” Keno asks as we climb into my car.

I shrug. “I figured that was a good start. Unless you have somewhere else in mind.”

Keno shakes his head. “I don’t. I’m kind of partial to that store.”

“You shop there often?” I ask with a smirk.

He grins. “No. But that’s where I bought your ring, so it’s now my favorite and first choice.”

That’s a good response. I’ll take it.

Once we’re on the road, I take his hand. I love holding his hand. We still get reminders for all the sweet, lovey moments, but I don’t think we need them anymore. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t want his hand in mine. I must reach for it half a dozen times. He slips his hand into mine about as much.

We hug constantly, cuddle at every chance we can, and kiss probably far too much, if there is such a thing. And that’s outside of our budding sex life.

But I kind of like the little notifications. It’s something to remind me of how far we’ve come in such a short period. I was right. Falling in love with my best friend has been like breathing. I’m aware it’s happening and yet it happens innately. Like it was always meant to happen.

There are times when I think I’m actually aware of myself falling in love with him. Little moments here and there. Like when he looks at me a certain way. Or says something. Sometimes it’s just a smile I know is only for me. Other times it can be as simple as just lying together and watching television, feeling his heartbeat against mine.

It’s everything.

Jarel’s isn’t far. It’s right in downtown Phoenix. “When did you stop here for the ring, anyway? I swear, we’re always together.”

“I bought it online,” Keno says. “Because you’d totally have been suspicious if I said I needed to go somewhere without you, and even though you knew a proposal was coming, I really wanted it to be a surprise.”

I wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull him close so I can kiss his cheek. “You’re perfect. You know that?”

He snorts. “Thanks.”

We walk inside and I’m not at all prepared for the size of the place. It’s… big. There are cases and cases of jewelry.

“Online was easier than this,” Keno mutters as he leans in close.

I grin. “Yeah, I can see that.”

A gentleman steps up to us. He has a tablet in his hands. I watch his eyes drop to where I have Keno’s hand in mine and tense.

We haven’t run into rampant homophobia outside of social media comments. To be fair, people are used to seeing us together. The places we frequent might have thought we’ve always been together or still view us as hockey’s biggest bromantic couple. Otherwise, we’re surrounded by hockey. And while there are always bad eggs in every industry, hockey notwithstanding, we’re mostly surrounded by very loud support.

He doesn’t say anything, and there’s a chance I imagined the way his jaw tenses. However, his tone is pleasant and professional when he asks, “How can I help you today?”

“We’re looking to purchase wedding bands,” I say. I have the urge to add on, preferably with someone less offended by our love than you, but I keep that to myself. For now, at least.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll add you to the queue. It’ll be about ten minutes before someone’s available if you’d like to stay.”

I nod.

“Name?”

“Etna Yreka.”

He taps the screen. He asks for my phone number and then pauses. “You’ve been here before, Mr. Yreka?”

Keno tilts his head and looks at me. I frown. “No. I’ve never bought a piece of jewelry in my entire life.”

“It says here that you purchased a ring just last month.”

“Oh, that was me,” Keno explains. “Sorry. The way it read online, I should register the ring to whoever is wearing it. Which is my fiancé.”

The man nods. “No problem. You’re all registered for the queue. Please feel free to look around while you wait, or we can give you a call when the next jeweler is available for you.”

“We’ll wait. Where are the men’s wedding bands?” I ask.

He leads us to one of the sides and points out the six cabinets for us to look in. Six!

“This was supposed to be the easy part of the day,” Keno mutters.

“Were there fewer options online?” I ask.

He shrugs. “No idea. I guess I could sort more easily online.”

There is literally any kind of ring you can think of. Engraved, two-tone, hammered, inlaid with jewels, completely bedazzled with diamonds. There are even some unusual ones, like intertwined vines and these really cool gothic rings I totally can’t pull off. Hell, there’s even one that looks like the tread of a tire!

Our ten-minute wait turned out to be thirty-five minutes, which was fine since we had our choices narrowed down by then. We opted for plain platinum with a hammered look on the outside and a fingerprint pattern on the inside.

Two identical rings in identical sizes, which I kind of love. They’ll truly be ours; not mine and his. It feels even more special because we can wear each other’s whenever we want. We might end up doing so without realizing it.

We hadn’t made an appointment ahead of time for Jarel’s, but we did for the wedding attire place we found. I booked online for after lunch and we spent the hour beforehand trying to work ourselves up to be decisive today. We managed to do so for the rings. That means we’re getting off on the right track.

Hopefully. Fingers crossed.

“Hello, Mr. Yreka,” the woman says as soon as I step inside. She offers me her hand. “My name is Sandra.” I’m slightly surprised and even more so when she turns to Keno and says, “Mr. Edgewood. It’s wonderful to meet you both.”

Keno and I exchange looks.

“Have we met before?” I ask.

She laughs. “No. Sorry. My son plays hockey. He’s a huge fan, so I’ve seen pictures of you two a hundred times.”

“Ah. Okay. Please thank him for being a fan,” I say, smiling.

“I wish we had something to send home with you.” Keno looks at me. “There might be one of your spare sticks in the car.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t feel obligated. I just wanted you to know I’m not a creepy fan stalking you. My son actually met you both at a game last year. He has a picture standing between the two of you. It sits on our fireplace mantle. It’s his most prized possession.”

“That’s super sweet.”

Sandra leads us to a table to the right. “Okay, so what direction are you leaning in?” she asks as we take our seats. “Formal like a tux or more casual like you might wear to a hockey game?”

I totally love that she’s familiar with hockey. Keno and I look at each other and simultaneously say, “Neither.”

She laughs. “Okay, that’s fine. What are you looking for? What’s your theme? We can start there and see what fits in.”

Keno sighs.

“That’s the problem. We don’t have a theme. We tried for weeks to find one we liked and came up short. So we ditched the theme idea and have decided to go with colors and let that lead us,” I say.

“That’s fine too. What colors—” She stops when we both shake our heads.

“We don’t know. It’s been nearly a week and we’re no closer to choosing colors than we had been on picking a theme,” Keno says defeatedly.

“Can I help?” she asks.

Keno and I both say, “Yes!” Probably a little too enthusiastically.

Sandra grins. “We’re going to play a game. I’m going to give you options or ask you a simple question. You answer with the very thing that comes to mind. Don’t think about it. Just answer. Okay?”

We nod.

“Do you prefer coffee or tea?”

“Tea,” I answer.

Keno hesitates for a minute before answering with the same.

“Why did you pause?” Sandra asks.

I’m grinning because I already know this answer.

“I don’t like either. I was going to say hot cocoa, but I didn’t think I was allowed to choose something other than the choices you gave me.”

She chuckles. “Fair enough. You’re allowed to say neither. Ready?” We nod. “Morning or night?”

“Night,” we both answer.

“Sleep in or get up early.”

“Sleep in,” we both answer.

“Cold or hot.”

“Cold,” I answer, and Keno says, “Hot.”

“I was beginning to think you’re the same person,” Sandra teases. “Beach or snow?”

“Beach,” we both answer.

“What’s your favorite meal?”

“Anything on the barbeque,” I answer.

“Lasagna in creamy cheese sauce,” Keno answers.

“What’s your favorite season?”

I give her an amused smile since Arizona doesn’t truly have distinct seasons like the north does. “Spring,” I say.

“Summer,” Keno answers.

“What’s your favorite holiday?”

“Christmas,” we both say.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Gray,” I answer.

“Blue,” Keno says.

“There we go. We have the beginning of a color scheme,” Sandra says.

Keno looks at her, confused. “We do?”

“Gray and blue are wonderful complimentary colors. Let me get a color pallet.” We watch her walk away. She returns a few minutes later with some color chips.

Through another series of instinctual responses, we do, in fact, have a color palette. Navy blue, slate blue, cloud gray, and a subtle gray that could almost be white. She tossed in a light gray blue to marry the colors, too.

“I think we need to take you everywhere,” Keno says. “If we’d have had you a month ago, we’d be far less stressed.”

Sandra smiles. “Hold that thought. That was the relatively easy part. Now we’re going to talk style. I think we can still play off the game we’ve been using. I’m going to stress that you shouldn’t look at the colors these are in, which I know is difficult. But all I want you to see is the style. You don’t have to have a reason to like or dislike something. This isn’t a test and there is no right answer. This is about preference and what you want. Ready?”

I’m definitely far more nervous about this game than I was with the previous two versions. But as long as we don’t have to think about it too long or study each individual piece, I find it’s not quite so bad.

In the end, she doesn’t give us results. Sandra says there aren’t any results. This was just for her to get a sense of how we lean. She gives us bottles of water and a plate of cookies and tells us to hang out while she puts some ideas together.

“She should let us hire her,” Keno says as he munches on a cookie. He pauses mid chew. “Should I be watching my wedding figure?”

I roll my eyes and shove him playfully. “If all days could be like this, I think this could be a lot of fun.”

“Actually, I think now that we have some colors, it’s going to be less stressful. We have the shortened time frame to deal with, but otherwise, I think it’s going to go a lot more smoothly from here.”

“Once we catch up on all the shit we’ve put off until we picked a theme.”

Keno nods.

Sandra returns with a rolling rack. “We’re ready for the first few options. I’m going to pull one for each of you to see side by side. If you love something, you can try it on. Keep in mind that these are just ideas. We can change, add, or take away anything.”

We sit back and the first set she pulls out I’m pretty much sold. She pulled a navy coat with a train for Keno and for me, a deep blue, but the lapels, sleeves and… sides? I don’t know the proper names of pieces of clothing. Those pieces, while still the same color, are a shinier, more detailed fabric.

“Yes,” Keno says, his voice quiet. Almost in awe. “That’s it. Right there.”

Sandra smiles. “You want to see more?”

“Okay, but I’m not sure you’re going to beat those.”

He’s not wrong. We see two more options, but Keno, like me, is already set on the first pair. Sandra hands Keno his to try on just as my phone rings.

“It’s the venue,” I tell Keno, and he pauses as I answer.

The woman we speak to at the resort is Melissa. She’s handling our event. “Good afternoon, Mr. Yreka,” Melissa greets. “How are you today?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Is this a good time?”

“We’re right in the middle of trying on our gowns,” I say.

She laughs. “Okay, I’ll make this quick. This phone call is just a reminder that I need your number of guests attending and approximately how many will be staying on site so we can ensure you have the proper number of rooms reserved.”

“Number of guests,” I repeat, eyes meeting Keno’s.

“Yes,” Melissa says. “I don’t need your actual guest list. Just the number.”

“Fuck. We need a guest list.”

Melissa laughs again. “Yes, Mr. Yreka. You also need to invite them and make sure they RSVP so you have a close approximate number on how many to expect.”

I’m still staring at Keno. I’m not sure if he heard Melissa or maybe we’re just in tune because of the game we played where we kept giving the same answers. But together, we say, “Fuck.”

I’m thankful Melissa is not offended by word. “Give me a call when you have that information, Mr. Yreka. It’s not urgent but as soon as possible would be appreciated.”

“Okay. Will do. Thanks for the call.”

I hang up and Keno gives me a distressed look. We had skipped that to-do because it meant invites and we didn’t have a theme to do invites yet!

“Want to help us with the guest list when we’re done playing dress up?” Keno asks Sandra.

She grins. “I’m afraid that’s one area I’m not going to be much help in.”

I sigh.

“Your parents will probably be, though.”

Keno and I must give each other similar looks. Sandra laughs and then gestures for Keno to follow her to the dressing room.