BooksBarbecue
Back Love at First Like
Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. • Part 1 •
  4. • Chapter 1 •
  5. • Chapter 2 •
  6. • Chapter 3 •
  7. • Chapter 4 •
  8. • Chapter 5 •
  9. • Chapter 6 •
  10. • Chapter 7 •
  11. • Chapter 8 •
  12. • Chapter 9 •
  13. • Chapter 10 •
  14. • Chapter 11 •
  15. • Chapter 12 •
  16. • Chapter 13 •
  17. • Chapter 14 •
  18. • Chapter 15 •
  19. • Part 2 •
  20. • Chapter 16 •
  21. • Chapter 17 •
  22. • Chapter 18 •
  23. • Chapter 19 •
  24. • Chapter 20 •
  25. • Chapter 21 •
  26. • Chapter 22 •
  27. • Chapter 23 •
  28. • Chapter 24 •
  29. • Part 3 •
  30. • Chapter 25 •
  31. • Chapter 26 •
  32. • Chapter 27 •
  33. • Chapter 28 •
  34. • Chapter 29 •
  35. • Chapter 30 •
  36. Acknowledgments
  37. Reading Group Guide
  38. ‘Meant to Be Mine’ Teaser
  39. one
  40. Continue Reading…
  41. About the Author
  42. Copyright

An automated email from the e-commerce platform we use comes in, alerting us that we made a sale. It’s unusual for us to sell a product without some kind of catalyst; typically, our customers prefer to buy pieces in person from the shop, so online purchases mostly happen when we send an email blast about a flash sale or a celebrity wears one of our pieces. (Not to brag, but Blake Lively purchased a five-carat, emerald-cut, platinum-band vow renewal ring from us last month, and both Ariana Grande and Cardi B like to wear our stackable rings.) Sales online tend to be smaller than ones in-person. It makes sense—before you drop an entire paycheck on a piece of jewelry, you probably want to see it up close. So, I didn’t have any expectations of greatness when I read the e-commerce email.

A new customer bought a $10,000 diamond necklace. Engagement rings aside, it’s the most expensive piece we carry. And now, it’s sold.

If it looks good for me to be engaged to a mystery man, and that translates directly into sales, then damn it, I’ll be engaged to a mystery man. What’s the harm? I call my sister back.

“You saw the sale?” I ask.

“Yeah, I did.” She sounds awestruck.

“That photo is working to our advantage,” I say, summoning my firmest voice. “I’m not taking it down.”

• Chapter 2 •

I shower. I put on an underwire bra and pants with a real waistband. I make myself look like I have my shit together, which for me, means piling on jewelry like armor: my signature stack of thin silver Brooklyn Jewels bangles, each embedded with a different family member’s birthstone; the chunky amethyst pendant Helen gave me as a bat mitzvah gift that ignited a lifelong love affair with jewelry; the round-cut diamond studs Sophie made for me to honor the shop’s launch, topped by a delicate pair of mismatched studs in my second holes—a star and a crescent moon—from an indie designer whose work I admire. Some people think jewelry is an overpriced fashion statement, but it’s so much more than that. When chosen with care, each piece tells a story of who you are and what matters to you. I don’t feel like myself without all of this.