I open my box of tampons and realize there’s only one left. Great.
I decide to treat myself to a lazy day on the couch with some comfort TV. So I shuffle into the living room and put onFriends, curling up like a human croissant, clutching a throw pillow to my stomach.
Ash breezes through the kitchen a few minutes later—shirtless, humming something criminally catchy.
I manage a weak wave before sinking deeper into my misery cocoon.
He pauses. Frowns. “You okay?”
“Just bleeding out,” I muttered. “Woman things.”
To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. Just nods, grabs his keys, and vanishes.
Twenty minutes later, the front door clicks open again.
I don’t move. Mostly because I can’t. The cramps have claimed me.
Then he appears in the doorway like some tattooed domestic fever dream, holding up a brown paper bag.
“I got you four different kinds,” he says, setting the bag gently on the coffee table. “Tampons. Pads. Organic. Ultra thin. I didn’t know which ones you preferred.”
I blink at him. “You bought me a tampon buffet?”
He shrugs. “Felt like the right move.”
And then—God help me—he disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a heating pad, a mug of chamomile tea, andchocolate.
I stare at him like he just proposed marriage again.
“Here,” he says, kneeling to plug in the heating pad like it’s no big deal. “Lie back. Put this where it hurts. Sip slow. And no, I didn’t poison the tea.”
“You’re being weirdly amazing about this.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You think I can’t handle a little blood?”
I snort. “Gross.”
He grins. “Truth.”
I settle back against the pillows, heating pad warm against my stomach, tea in hand, and chocolate already melting in my mouth.
Ash stands in front of me, suddenly a little nervous. “I, uh, actually have something else for you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny velvet box. Not the glossy black kind from a billboard—this one’s soft and old-fashioned, deep green like a library lamp. My heart trips. My mouth goes dry.
“Oh,” I say. Not exactly a sentence.
He sinks onto the coffee table edge, elbows on his knees, and holds the box like it might explode. He huffs out a breath. “I picked this up for you.”
He flicks the lid open.
The world goes quiet.
The ring inside is… beautiful. An oval diamond, candlelit instead of cold, set east–west on a thin gold band. Two tiny marquise diamonds curve at either side like secret leaves, and the milgrain edging gives it the quiet dignity of something already loved. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted until right now.
“I—” The word evaporates. “Ash.”
