“I really like her.”
She’d squeezed my hand, and we’d driven home, and I’d thought about how good it felt to have Margaret’s approval. How right it felt to be walking into that hospital room together, to be introduced as something permanent instead of something temporary.
Over the next few days, I found myself looking at rings online.
I started Tuesday night after Pauline fell asleep. Opened my laptop in the dark living room and typed “engagement rings” into the search bar like I was researching a new acquisition. Which, in a way, I was. Except this acquisition was permanent, non-negotiable, and came with a lifetime return policy I had no intention of using.
I clicked through collections, she had elegant fingers. Long. She talked with her hands—gestures that punctuated everything she said—and whatever I put on her finger would catch light every time she made a point. Every time she argued with me. Every time she touched my face.
By Wednesday afternoon, I’d narrowed it down to three options and was second-guessing all of them.
“What are you looking at?”
I slammed the laptop shut.
Pauline stood in the doorway wearing just a towel, damp from shower. She was looking at me like I’d just been caught doing something illegal.
“Work,” I said, too fast.
“Work.” She walked closer. “You just closed that laptop like you were hiding a body.”
“Financial reports. Very boring.”
“You looked extremely focused for something boring. You’re acting suspicious.” She stopped in front of the desk. “What were you really looking at?”
“Revenue forecasts.”
“Jack.”
“Quarterly projections.”
“You’re the worst liar. Your ears turn red when you lie to me.”
Damn it. Did they? They probably did.
She reached for the laptop. I caught her wrist—not hard, just enough to redirect her trajectory—and pulled her toward me instead.
“Nice distraction technique,” she said. But she wasn’t pulling away, and when I tugged her into my lap, she came willingly. Her curves wrapped in just a towel made my brain stutter. “You’re still not answering.” She added.
“Maybe I was shopping for your birthday.”
“My birthday’s in March.”
“I plan ahead.”
“It’s October.”
“Six-month lead time is very reasonable for—” I lost my train of thought when she shifted in my lap and apparently my ability to form coherent sentences had limits.
“For what?” She was smirking now. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“For whatever I was hypothetically planning to buy you.”
I kissed her before she could make another grab for the laptop. Pulled her closer, one hand in her hair, the other on her hip, and kissed her until she stopped asking questions.
When I pulled back, she was flushed and breathing harder, her eyes darker than they’d been a minute ago.
“You better not be hiding anything that concerns me,” she murmured.
