* * *
In the morning, with the thrill still so strong, she waited while the jeweler measured her finger, measured the ring.
When Miles offered to buy her what he called a stopgap, she nearly teared up again.
“No, I can wait. It’s worth waiting for.”
“You might want to select your wedding bands.” The saleswoman, all smiles, beamed at them. “We could have those sized for you as well.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Should we do that? Are you going to want a ring?”
“I ought to get something out of it,” Miles decided. “Keep it simple—keep mine simple. Plain band, no stones. Like that.”
“We could both get ones like that.”
“You could.” The jeweler kept beaming. “But if I could suggest? With a gorgeous vintage engagement ring, an heirloom, you might consider a vintage band. We have a few in this case over here.”
And with that, she lured Morgan to the locked display case.
“Oh, oh, they’re just stunning.”
But Miles had seen just where her gaze landed, and pointed. “That one.”
“Miles—”
“An excellent choice.” Wasting no time, the woman unlocked the case. “It’s from the same era as the solitaire, platinum setting, a double eternity band, two carats total weight, so the solitaire won’t outshine it. They’ll complement each other.”
“See how it looks.”
“You should do the honors.” No fool, the woman handed the ring to Miles. “Good practice. And it looks like a perfect fit. You have the hands for it. Those long slender fingers.”
“Looks good on you.”
“It would look good on anyone. But—”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s gorgeous. Of course I like it, anyone would. But you don’t have to—”
“We’ll take it. And the other one—the men’s one.”
“Oh God.” Fast, she thought giddily. Lightning fast, but so right. “I might have to sit down again.”
“You can handle it. Now give it back. You don’t get to have it until the deal’s final.”
“I’ll box it for you—such an exquisite choice. And we’ll see if we have your size in the men’s band. You can have something engraved on the inside—no charge.”
“No, we’ll just—”
“Get his size, and he can buy the wedding band. Then you go away, Miles. Go to work,” Morgan told him. “I buy your ring—that’s how it works. And I get to decide if I have anything to say inside it.”
“I’m the one who’ll wear it.”
“Yeah.” She tugged him down, kissed him. “And you’re going to be stuck.”
And she knew just what she wanted engraved.
A Deal’s a Deal.
From the jeweler’s she went straight to Crafty Arts. She saw her mother first, chatting with a pair of customers. Then Audrey saw her. Stopped, and when she read her daughter’s face, began to bounce on her toes before she dashed over to grab Morgan into a hug.
“It happened. It happened. Oh, let me see— Where’s the ring?”
“It had to be sized, just a half size down. It’ll take a few days or so. But I have a picture.”
“She has a picture! Can I tell, can I say? I have to. You have to let me,” she said as Morgan started laughing. “This is my baby girl, and she just got engaged.”
Every woman in the shop applauded, and several walked over to look at the ring.
“I only have a picture. It’s being sized.” She held up her phone.
“What’s all this ruckus?” Olivia demanded as she came down the stairs. She walked straight to Morgan, kissed both her cheeks. “He’s a good man, and almost deserves you. Mimosas on the house, staff and customers. We’re going to toast to a brave new start.”
* * *
Rozwell hated fucking Nevada. He hated the goddamn desert, and he hated the filthy, ugly shack he was forced to live in.
He hated the puckered scabby scar on his arm.
Most of all, he hated the solitude, the isolation, the constant nothing.
He had eggs, Christ knew, and he was sick of them.
He had to cook for himself, and clean up after himself, and he was damn sick of that, too. He’d opened cans—lots of cans—and even tried frying up some chicken parts from the freezer.
It turned out scorched outside, too pink inside, and he hated that, too. He did better with rice, carefully following internet instructions.