"I want to give you something," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Right now?"
"Right now."
I slipped out of bed. Crossed to the dresser. Picked up the ring box.
When I turned around, Garrett had sat up. The sheet pooled at his waist. His eyes dropped to my hand.
Everything in his face changed.
He knew that box.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Held it out to him.
He took it slowly. Turned it over in his hands. The navy velvet was slightly worn at the corners. He ran his thumb along the hinge but didn't open it.
"You kept it," he said. Barely a whisper.
"I kept it."
He opened the box. The solitaire caught the light, small and clear on its white gold band. He stared at it for a long time.
I watched his throat work.
"You never asked for it back," I said. "So I want to give it back to you now."
Something shuttered in his expression. A flash of fear so raw it made my chest hurt. His hand closed around the box, braced, guarded, like he was preparing for a blow.
"Sloane, if you're?—"
"No." I covered his hand with mine. Squeezed. "Garrett, no. That's not what this is."
He stared at me. Not breathing.
"I'm giving it back," I said carefully, "so that you can give it when you think we’re ready." I held his gaze. "But I want you to know that when you ask me again—ifyou ask me again—the answer is the same one I gave you on that rooftop."
He didn't say anything for a long moment.
Then he closed the box. Set it on the nightstand. Carefully. Like it was the most important thing he'd ever held.
When he looked back at me, his eyes were bright.
"Come here." His voice was rough.
I went.
He pulled me into his lap, cradled my face in both hands, and kissed me like a man who'd just been handed back something he thought he'd lost forever.
I woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee.
My bedroom. My sheets. But something was different. Something was?—
Cabinets opening and closing. The clink of a mug.
Garrett.
I lay there, letting the sound settle over me. Someone in my kitchen. Garrett in my kitchen.
