“Just as long as I’m paying for his brilliance.”
“You will be,” she says. “He’ll give us a deal. But I’ll be sure to keep track of everything.” She puts away her phone, then looks out the window. “So where are we headed?”
“There’s a place called the Lexington over in Midtown,” I say. “Near the Garden, where a lot of the Warriors players are frequently seen. Also the guy who hosts the biggest hockey podcast in the country is known to hang out there after games. He was at the game tonight, so I’m banking on him being there. If he sees us, he’ll definitely mention it on his show.”
“That’s great,” she says. “Exactly what we need.”
“It’s mostly just a sports bar,” I say, “but a little more upscale. And smaller. I didn’t want to take you somewhere with a big, noisy crowd.”
She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Thank you,” she says. “Thanks for thinking of that.”
“No problem.”
She opens her bag one more time. “I guess I should go ahead and put this on.” She pulls out Anna’s ring.
“Actually,” I say, pausing to reach for the one in my pocket. I glance forward to our driver, a sudden swell of nerves making me sweat. I’m wearing too many layers for this kind of conversation. “Hey, can we get a little privacy?”
The driver nods, then a screen raises between us and the front of the SUV. I have no idea how soundproof it is, but I drop my voice to a whisper anyway, just in case it isn’t. “I know we agreed Anna’s ring would be fine, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it would look better if I went ahead and purchased one, so…” I hold up the ring, hand trembling the slightest bit. “I got you this one.”
Sarah stares, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “You bought a ring?” she asks, her voice hushed.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made a guess. I hope it’s okay.” I hold it toward her. “May I?”
She gives me her left hand, and I slowly slide it onto her ring finger. The moment feels a little too real, and I force myself to remember we’re only pretending.
She extends her arm in front of her, tilting her hand this way and that. Her voice is breathy when she says, “Ohhhh, wow. It’s so beautiful.”
A tiny pulse of victory pushes through my chest. Real or not, I really wanted her to like it. I’m glad that she does.
“How did you know what size to get?” she asks. “It feels perfect.”
“Do you remember when I slid Anna’s ring onto my pinky and almost got it stuck?”
She nods, biting her lip in a way I’m beginning to recognize as a sign that she’s feeling particularly emotional.
“I used that as a gauge. Are you sure you like it? I won’t be offended if you’d rather wear the other one.”
“No, this one is so much better,” she says. “I really love it.”
“Well, you should. You have to wear it for a year.”
Something flashes behind her eyes, but there’s no time to ask what she’s thinking because the privacy screen slides down as the SUV eases to a stop.
Outside, a security guard stands in front of a sleek black building with a minimal, low-profile entrance.
“Just let me know when to come back for you,” our driver says. “I’ll be close by all night.”
Once we’re both on the sidewalk, Sarah pauses under a streetlamp. “Here,” she says, pulling her phone out of her bag. “Let’s take a picture with the ring. I’m supposed to post something tonight.” She holds up her phone. “Actually, you’re the one with the long arms. If we’re doing a selfie, you should take it.”
I take her phone, then she steps in front of me, pressing her back to my front. Instinctively, I wrap an arm around her, clasping it around her shoulder. She relaxes against me, lifting her hands to curl them around my arm, and I’m struck with the rightness of how this feels. I felt the same way the first time we took photos together. With my free arm, I lift the phone and center us in the frame. The ring sparkles in the lights of the streetlamp. I take a couple of photos, then, when Sarah looks up at me, exposing the long line of her neck, I take one more.
She takes the phone and looks through the photos. “Perfect,” she says. “We actually look really good.”
I shoot her a grin as we head toward the entrance of the club. “You could take a photo next to a dumpster and still look amazing.”
She smiles playfully. “I’ll take your word for it because I’m definitely not testing that theory.”
Once inside, we check our coats and finda cozy booth with a round bench seat hugging the wall. The place looks busy, but not so busy that it’s overwhelming. The vibe is chill, making me confident this was a good choice for Sarah. I take a minute to scan the room, looking for anyone I recognize.
