One Day Fiance

Connor picks up my hand and holds it out toward Pete. Of course, Pete’s on Team Connor and slides the giant diamond ring on my finger.

“It’s gorgeous. Perfect for you,” Pete gasps dramatically, trying to make a sale. Based on the amount of stuff in here and the utter lack of customers, he needs it. He starts talking carats and clarity, all utter gibberish to me. All I know is that as the ring slips over my finger, fantasy fills my mind. A fantasy of romance, of giggles and real diamonds . . . of happily ever after.

A fantasy I want . . . but right now, not what I need.

I open my mouth to say so, but Connor interrupts me. “Maybe a ruby? It seems appropriate.”

I start to protest again, but Connor puts an arm around my waist, pulling me in tight to his side to press a tender kiss to my temple. And with the touch of his lips to my skin, my arguments flitter away like dandelion fluffs in the wind.

He’s playing a part, much like when he played the part of a security guard, but it feels so real.

Seeing Pete’s held-out hand, I know I have to take the ring off and give it back. And as ridiculous as it might be, I hate to take it off. I could play this part too.

That of Connor’s fiancée. Not fake, but real. Is it really playing, then, or is it something more?

I’m still trying to decide when Pete holds up a ruby ring and my jaw drops. I don’t know if it’s real or fake, but it’s beautiful.

The eye-shaped stone is smaller than the diamond and is nowhere near as obnoxiously gaudy. But the way it sits in its setting is perfect, elegant and bright.

It’s unique.

Maybe like I am?

Or how I’d like to be, at least. Aleria would say it’s a personification of my goal self, the outer version I’d like to be on the inside. All I know is . . . Come to mama, baby.

Knowing he’s got a fish on the hook when he sees it, Pete lays on the butter as thick as he can to try and close the sale. “Ah, I have sold a lot of rings in my day, and I know that look. Here, it is only right for you to do it.”

He hands the ring to Connor, who takes it delicately, almost cradling it in his large fingers as he studies every bit of it. But there’s no need to discuss carats or clarity or anything technical on this ring.

Somehow, despite my earlier thoughts about how depressing this place is, this ring was made for me.

Connor takes my hand and formally slides in onto my left ring finger. “Well now . . . there you go.”

Perhaps not the most romantic words ever uttered in history, but it doesn’t matter. We’re standing in a dirty pawn shop, a sweaty guy looking at us like we’re the suckers born just this last minute, on a desperate mission to recover my laptop, but right now . . . we’re not.

We’re Connor and Poppy, a couple. Getting to know each other, working together, helping each other, and maybe more? Connor looks deep into my eyes, and I look deep into his. I can’t be alone in this. There’s no way. He’s gotta feel the fireworks shooting off, threatening to burn the pawn shop to the ground, even if he said destroying the place wasn’t a good plan at all.

Pete claps wildly, breaking the moment. “Oh, yes! I love this moment! You may kiss the bride!” he says gleefully.

“Oh, we uh—” I start, but the words die on my tongue when Connor places my left hand on his chest, right over his heart, and bends down to kiss me.

This one is different from any of the others we’ve had, softer and sweeter, as he slowly melts me. I feel like he’s learning my every nook and cranny. Not of my teeth, but of my soul. Like he’s mapping out . . . me.

Whether he realizes it or not, that’s a two-way street. With every second we’re pressed together, I can feel that his guards are down too, and I can feel his soul. There are no false fronts, no fake lies that he tells the world, tells himself. I can feel the heart of who he is.

When we pull apart, needing air, Connor pins me in place with a dark stare like he’s trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

“Me too,” I tell him. I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, exactly, but hell fucking yes to all of it. Any of it.

Connor’s lips tilt up the teensiest, tiniest bit before he starts listening to his inner whispers and doubts again, going somber. “We’ll take it.”