MORGAN
A bell jingles merrily as we enter the little shop, and I’m hyperaware of Will’s palm pressed against mine.
An older man pops up from behind the counter, his eyes lighting up. “You must be the happy couple!” At our surprised faces, he continues. “My wife called someone named”—he lifts a paper from the counter and slides his glasses onto his nose—“Fran a few minutes ago to make sure you remember we close at two. She said you were on your way. So glad you made it!”
“Me too,” I say. “Sorry to show up last minute. If the ring is ready, we’ll get going so you can close up.”
“Oh, nonsense.” A plump woman bustles into the room, gripping a camera. “We have plenty of time for all our happy couples.”
She places her hand on her chest. “Oh my, you two are young, aren’t you?” But before we can respond, she perches herself on a stool next to a display case where she props her elbow. “So, how did you get engaged?”
Prepared for this one, Will tells the story brilliantly. The woman sits in rapt attention, crooning in all the right places. Her husband hovers nearby, listening.
The woman rests her chin in her hand. “And how did you meet? Have you known each other long?”
Okay. We weren’t prepared forthatone.
“Um,” I say, ever the eloquent one. And my palm starts to sweat in this interrogation room. One wrong move, they’ll toss us out of Oklahoma. I’msonot good at this.
“Well,” he drawls, “it was a bad beginning. We were both in a hurry—to go to the same place, as it turns out—and bumped into each other. We spilled our drinks all over our clothes and shoes.”
“Oh my! What a meet-cute.”
“It wasn’t very cute, to be honest, and when we arrived at the place we were going and saw the other there, neither of us was very happy. But fast forward a bit, and here we are.”
The woman puts her hand over her chest again. “Oh, a romance born of tragedy.” She bats her eyes at her husband. “It reminds me of our story.”
He comes to stand behind her, gnarled hands gripping her shoulders. “We had a similar mishap the first time we met. But it was a small price to pay for the last forty-five years.”
He squeezes her shoulders, and leaning her head back into him, she giggles in a girlish manner. Then she frowns at our linked hands.
“Where’s your ring, dear?” she asks me.
I hadn’t thought of that either. “Well…” I swallow. “We went paddleboarding, and I didn’t want to risk losing it. I didn’t have time to grab it before we rushed here.”
Will meets my eyes and nods in approval.
“Oh, too bad. I love engagement rings. Do think of us if you ever have any other jewelry needs.”
“Sure.” Will’s lips twitch with a suppressed smile.
“Speaking of jewelry.” The man holds up a small box. “I have your freshly cleaned and polished groom’s ring right here.”
Will reaches for it, but the man pulls it back. “We have a special tradition here. Before we hand over the goods, we need a photo of the bride and groom for our wedding collage.” He gestures to a collage of photos covering the back wall.
I should’ve known.
No problem. We can do this. I grip Will’s hand as the woman directs us into the light.
“That’s right, stand right there.”
Will smooths out his bright-yellow Fish Eufaula T-shirt and floppy curls. “I’m not dressed for this.”
The man chuckles. “You’re looking sharp, son. I have that same shirt.”
Will catches my eye, and I try not to laugh.
The woman adjusts my hair and then steps back. “Now, give us a nice big smile.”
