“She was very sure about it,” I add. That part almost catches. I clear my throat lightly, pushing through. Boy, was I ever sure about it. “It was supposed to be ready a few weeks before the wedding. Final fitting, last adjustments, the whole thing.”
“And was it ready?”
“It got finished and yes, it was ready for the wedding,” I say, closing the box gently. “Only, the wedding never happened.”
I keep my eyes on the counter, tracing an invisible line along the wood.
“Turns out forever is a little less…set in stone than people think,” I add, a faint, almost self-aware edge slipping back into my voice. I glance up then, meeting his eyes. “Which, again, is not the story we usually lead with around here.”
“So, I guess it wouldn’t fit the brand, would it?” Ty asks, the corner of his mouth tipping upward.
“No,” I say easily. “Not at all.”
I reach into the safe where Emma’s husband’s wedding band sits and grab a polishing cloth, giving it a small flick before I bring it to the ring. A little extra flourish never hurt anyone. I turn it slowly between my fingers, giving it one last pass until it catches the light just right.
“There,” I say, satisfied. I grab a fresh velvet box, place the ring inside, and slide it across the counter toward him.
He reaches for it, then pauses. “You know what,” he says, pulling his hand back slightly. “I want Emma to see that I’ve got it.”
I glance up.
“Will you take a picture of me with it?” he adds, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “So I can send it to her.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Evidence you did your brother-job?”
“Proof of ring-life, really.” He hands me his phone, stepping back a half pace as he opens the box again.
“Okay, hold on,” I say, lifting the phone and angling it toward him. “You can’t stand there like you’ve been forced into this.”
“But I kinda was,” he says, holding the box up anyway.
“Your face is saying exactly that, but,” I point to my mouth, “why don’t you give me a smile.”
He bares his teeth. That is not a smile. What he has done I would call a situation.
I shake my head. “No. We’re not scaring her away from the photo. I need you to smile.”
“Iamsmiling.”
“That is not smiling,” I say, lowering the phone slightly so I can look at him properly. “That’s what people do right before they tell you bad news.”
He exhales a laugh, dropping the expression.
“Okay,” I say, lifting the phone again. “Try again. Be normal.”
I catch it then—a reaction I almost miss. It’s subtle, but there’s something there. A flicker. A small storm that rolls through his expression before he reins it back in, like I imagined it.
He clears his throat and points to his mouth. I can’t even see teeth. “I’m smiling now.”
I toss my hands in the air at his tight-lipped attempt. “Your mouth disagrees.”
That does it. A real laugh breaks through, his shoulders loosening, something unguarded slipping into his expression without him trying.
I snap the photo.
“Got it,” I say, lowering the phone and glancing at the screen.
It’s good. Better than good. This man isridiculouslyattractive. Like—campaign-level. Put-him-on-the-side-of-a-building-and-sell-something-I-don’t-need attractive. I hold the phone out to him.
