A case of diamond tennis bracelets catches my eye. They’re so bright, I feel compelled to pull out my sunglasses to protect my retinas from the way they glisten under the display lights. A bracelet seems too matronly, though. It’s a present a man would buy his sister or his mom, not something he’d buy his temporary summer girlfriend.

I scoff at my own bad joke. Humor always has been one of my favorite defense mechanisms.

We’ve still got more than three weeks until I leave for California, but since we arrived in the city, it feels like time is moving at warp speed. When I woke up this morning, Dempsey had this far-off, dreamy look on his face. I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to wake up to him every day, even after our summer together is through.

But those kinds of thoughts are pointless. There’s no version of our future where I don’t go to California to finish school and he doesn’t stay in Hampton to care for his mom and brother. My reason for leaving and his reason for staying are equally valid and more than a little similar. We’re both stubborn, yes, but we both have rock-solid convictions at the core of who we are as individuals.

I’ve always dreamed of this big, bold life for myself, regardless of what I have to sacrifice to make it happen. He’s determined to care for the people he loves, regardless of what he can’t hold on to in the process.

I would never ask him to leave his family. I would resent the hell out of him if he dared to ask me to stay. Our fates are cemented in stone: two separate paths that crossed for one summer but will never merge again.

I clear my throat and focus on the here and now, which garners the attention of the salesperson behind the counter. She asks if there’s anything I’d like to see, so I mindlessly point to a pair of earrings to distract myself from my morose thoughts.

When she presents me with the earrings and tells me the price, I almost laugh out loud. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Dempsey spend twelve thousand dollars on earrings. I know he’s loaded, but that’s not the point. It’s way too much, especially compared with just how little I can give him in return.

Every minute we’re together feels more supercharged than anything I’ve ever experienced. I refuse to put a price on what our time together has meant to me.

If he wants to buy me something, it needs to be small. Something delicate and unexpected. Something that encapsulates how brilliantly we burned together this summer, for just a blip in time.