No Two Are Alike

02 | run over by an elf

Jack wished women were as easy to understand as biology.

But alas.

He sighed, staring at the endless display cases of jewelry. Golden necklaces, ruby-encrusted rings, feathered brooches — short of Marie Antoinette's personal collection of watches, Harrods had pulled out all the stops this year.

Not that Jack was any less clueless.

"Excuse me," he called. "Can I get some help?"

A pretty redheaded sales associate materialized a moment later. She was chewing bubblegum the way that some people chain-smoked.

"Yes?" she demanded.

"Sorry," Jack said, slightly sheepish. "I'm trying to find something for a—" He hesitated. "For a friend, and I'm a little lost."

A lot lost, actually.

"Columbus-on-his-way-to-India" sort of lost.

The girl's expression softened. Oh, hell. Jack was clearly as subtle as a fist to the face. Was it that obvious that he liked Chloe?

"What sort of jewelry does she normally wear?"

Jack scratched his head. That was a good question, actually; what on earth did Chloe normally wear? Hoops? Statement necklaces? Tasseled nipple rings?

Crap.

Maybe Jack should just throw in the towel and get her more Superman comics. Or socks with Henry Cavill's face on them. Screw the whole jewelry idea.

But, no; he was getting Chloe a proper Christmas gift this year. A serious one. Even if it killed him. His cousin, Hattie, had suggested a trendy piece of jewelry — and given that she was a fashion designer, he was inclined to listen to her.

So here he was.

Panicking.

The redhead was still staring at him expectantly. Jack cleared his throat.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Necklaces? Bracelets?"

"Bracelets," Jack said, seizing on it. "She has some of those. Silver ones."

The girl seemed to be trying hard not to smile. Jack heavily suspected that "silver ones" was not a super helpful description.

"What sort of bracelets?" she asked.

"Er." Jack thought of Chloe arriving on his parents' doorstep yesterday, pissed out of her mind and missing a shoe. "Indestructible ones?"

"She's clumsy, huh?"

"Yeah."

"My flatmate, too," the redhead told him, drawing a key from her pocket. "She's always tripping over things." She unlocked the display case. "Maybe a cuff of some sort?"

Jack eventually chose a sturdy-looking silver bangle with etchings of flowers and vines. Chloe always wore jasmine perfume. More importantly, she had dressed up as Blossom from the Powerpuff Girls for Halloween when they were ten — an iconic look that Jack intended to immortalize in jewelry.

He made his way patiently through the throngs of shoppers, some of whom had their faces pressed to the glass of the festive window displays. London was already growing dark, and Harrods was lit up like a gingerbread house with golden glitter. The air smelled like sticky, honey-coated roasted peanuts.

His stomach growled.

God, those smelled amazing. Stupid peanut allergy; it always prevented Jack from having the finer things in life.