I shrug, pocketing both boxes. “She’s a child who deserves to know she matters. That she’s part of this too.”
Kinsey sniffs again, blinking fast. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Still allergies?” I tease.
“Obviously,” she says, brushing at her lashes. “Shut up and let me cry in peace.”
I can already picture Kate’s face when she sees the ring—how she’ll try to hide the way it hits her, how her fingers will hover like she’s afraid to touch it. And I can picture Evie’s grin when she opens the bracelet box, wide and toothy and perfect.
This ring is about choosing each other. It’s not a solution or a bandaid to help. I want to ask her properly, I want to get on one knee and show the world that Kate is mine.
We finish up with the payment and the sales person hands me a black bag with gold letters. Walking to the truck, Kinsey punches my arm.
“Ouch! What was that for?” I frown, tucking the bag against me.
“That—” Kinsey walks ahead a step. “Was for making my allergies act up.”
Chapter fifty
Kate
There’s something thrilling about getting ready for a date with a man you’re technically already married to.
It’s five forty-two, and the house looks like it’s been ransacked by a particularly indecisive raccoon. My closet exploded onto the bed—three dresses, two blouses, and a pile of jeans that I swear used to fit differently. Evie’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of it all in her favorite purple dress, watching me with the solemn interest of a judge at a fashion competition.
“Mom,” she says, “you’ve tried that one on three times.”
“It looks different each time.” I stare at my reflection, tugging at the hem of a sundress. “Does it look too…flowery?”
“It looks like you’re going to a picnic.”
“It’s dinner, not a picnic.”
“Wear the blue one,” she suggests, pointing toward the corner chair where my favorite wrap dress is draped. “Cam likes blue.”
I freeze mid-spin. “And how do you know that?”
She shrugs, unconcerned. “He told me.”
My mouth opens, then closes. “Of course he did.”
Evie grins, triumphant. “You should wear it.”
“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing the dress and heading for the bathroom. “But only because my daughter-turned-fashion consultant insists.”
“He’s going to be here soon!” Evie yells from her bedroom, vibrating with excitement like she might blast off the floor.
“I know!” I call back, though I’m half bent over the bathroom sink trying to get mascara on my eyelashes and not my eyelid. It’s exactly six. Of course it is.
I slip on a sandal, grab my second earring, and that’s when I hear a loud thunk followed by a tiny gasp.
“Mom!” Evie shouts. “Matilda fell behind the bed and she’s trapped!”
Naturally, we need to throw a Matilda crisis into the mix.
“I’m coming!” I say, limping down the hall in one shoe while trying to secure the earring in my left ear. I almost drop it as I duck into Evie’s room.
She’s standing on tiptoe, pointing down at the stuffed dinosaur now wedged perfectly into the narrow gap.
