It wouldn’t matter. Now that I’d seen it, nothing else would match it.
“Well, at least let me tell you a bit about it. It was handmade by a local jeweler, so it’s one of a kind. The emerald is about a carat…maybe slightly more. White gold, vintage setting with pave diamond accents flanked on either side.”
“It’s perfect.”
She smiled and lingered a moment. Then, she turned to the cash register to ring me up. I handed over my credit card without a second glance at the total.
Now that I had a ring, I just had to find the right moment.
I just hoped it wasn’t too much of a wait.
It was already starting to burn a hole in my pocket.
Liv
“Clare, you really need to stop bringing me baked goods. I’m fine, I swear. It’s been two weeks,” I said, opening my front door wider so that she could enter.
“I know. I just can’t help it. Something happens to someone I love, and I bake. When my father died, I think the local grocery store was out of sugar for an entire week. It’s the only way I know how to deal.”
I took the mammoth plate of cookies from her hands, and it only revealed her belly to me more.
“Holy shit! Look at you!”
“I know,” she answered. “Apparently, with the third one, there’s no stopping it. That stick says positive, and bam, here comes the belly. I thought I’d have a little bit longer before I had to pull out the granny pants.”
“You look great,” I said, sneaking a few steps forward to run my hands over her swelling stomach.
It wasn’t as big as she thought it was, but she was definitely showing. As my fingers ran over her taut rounded belly, I felt longing rather than relief for the first time in my life.
“I feel awkward and large, but enough about me. I came here to shower you with sugar and see how you were doing.”
Setting the cookies down on the counter, I pulled out two mugs for tea. “Chamomile or peppermint?” I asked, lifting two small tins from the pantry.
“I want coffee,” she whined, taking a seat at the center island.
“You get chamomile or peppermint, preggo.” I laughed.
“Okay. Let’s go with peppermint.”
“Good choice.”
I heated up the water and insisted Clare first update me on her life.
“Maddie is in four dance classes. Four, Liv. I think I might go insane.” Her head dropped into her hands.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re officially a dance mom now! We should make you a shirt or something.”
“Please don’t.”
“Just be glad she’s found something she loves, and she is passionate about it,” I reminded her as I poured the hot water into the mugs and left the tea to steep.
“I am. Truly. It’s been amazing to see how far she’s come since that first year when she was practicing all her positions on the new ballet barre Logan built for her. It’s just a huge commitment.”
“For everyone,” I added.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m hoping Ollie’s passion will be a little less involved.”
Dividing the tea into two cups, I gave her a discouraging look. “I doubt that.”
She sighed. “Me, too. He’s already learning guitar chords while sitting on Logan’s lap and throwing footballs in the backyard with Uncle Colin. I’m screwed.”
“You’re blessed,” I said, handing her a cup.
“Yeah”—she smiled—“I am.”
We sipped our tea in comfortable silence, both sneaking cookies off the tray to nibble on. The heat of the tea warmed my chilled hands, making me appreciate the crisp chill in the autumn air.
“Ever since that day, I find myself hugging my children a bit tighter in the morning and kissing them a few more times at night. It’s—”
“Scary,” I said, finishing her sentence. She nodded as I continued, “When my fingers wrapped around the door handle and it opened without force, I immediately knew something was wrong. I don’t know how many times Jackson has told Noah to make sure he locks the door the instant he gets home. Hell, he’s yelled at me about it a time or two. But nothing compares to walking into that house and finding his things scattered about while the house is completely empty.”
“How is Noah coping?” she asked hesitantly.
“Better now that the media attention has died off a bit. Seeing his mother’s mug shot splattered everywhere was hard, and there were nights when he woke up crying, frightened he was going to lose us.”
“Both of you?” she asked with a warm smile.
“Yeah,” I said. “His words, not mine.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Cherished,” I answered.
“And?” Her lips pressed together as she tried to look innocent.
“Oh my God, Clare, you have the worst poker face ever.”
“What? I was just trying to see how things were progressing.”
“Then, ask!”
“Are you…I mean…do you think he’s going to…”
“Spit it out.” I grinned. I loved watching her squirm.
“Propose?”
“Yes.”