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I can’t help but smile at that. “She admitted to it after the fifth time she sneezed. Leave it to Ruthie to adopt a dog she’s allergic to.”
He watches me for a moment, and I can feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. “She’s got a big heart,” he finally says. “It gets her into trouble.”
I think he’s talking about Rand, or maybe Jarrod Travis, but there’s no knowing with Danny. He’s more perceptive than he seems by half.
When I found out Ruthie was seeing Rand, I warned Danny about him. He lived on my street, growing up, although he was a few years younger. His parents were wealthy, and he was a little shit—the kind of kid who burned the wings off flies, chased toddlers, and got in trouble and blamed it on the poor kid. He looked out for one person, and one person only: Rand Callaghan. He was exactly the sort of asshole Ruthie always accuses me of being.
Danny told me he’d talk to her, but it didn’t help. So I’d taken it upon myself to warn Ruthie too—once before she got engaged to Rand, and then again at her rehearsal dinner. She told me to fuck off, not that I was surprised.
I could tell from the look in her eyes that he had her on the hook, just like Michael knows he caught a live one with Danny. But I’d owed it to Danny to keep trying.
I nod slowly. I’m trying to pluck something to say out of the ether when Michael comes running back with a board the size of an elephant’s ass.
“Looks like a murder board,” Danny mumbles under his breath. Michael has connected different groups of rings with little pieces of red string, probably because I made such a point of ‘her’ liking red. I get the concept; if she likes this ring, then she might also like these five other ones.
Danny takes a gulp of scotch that drains half his glass, then gives Michael his attention.
“Here we are, here we are,” Michael says, setting the board down.
“Are any of these blood diamonds?” Danny asks, and Michael stiffens.
“We use only the most ethical sources.” He glances around before saying in an undertone, “But something tells me these might not be to your liking.” He points to three of the sparklers.
So Michael’s honest, or he thinks it benefits him to come off as such. Either way, the precaution is appreciated. So was his help with the music. It’s become slightly less miserable to be in here.
One of the rings catches my eye. It’s a red stone, square cut, with small diamonds to either side. Elegant but kind of flashy. Saucy, like someone I know. I point to it. “Is that a ruby?”
Michael nods.
“It’s not bad,” Danny says, studying it. “But Mira’s iffy on red things unless it’s Christmas.” He sighs. “And then everything has to be red. But I don’t think she’d want a red ring.”
Michael’s a good salesman. Unless he has the memory of a goldfish, he remembers me telling him red is her favorite color. It happened less than twenty minutes ago. The only reaction I notice in him is a slight glance in my direction, but it lasts for maybe a quarter of a second. Danny doesn’t seem to notice.
My buddy turns to me. “What do you think? They all look the same to me.”
The only sign this horrifies Michael is the slightest pinching of his lips. While I didn’t think much of his salesmanship at first glance, I’m not ashamed to admit I was wrong—this man would make a killing at poker.
I help Danny narrow it down to half a dozen choices, with some input from Michael. It’s noticed and appreciated that he’s not pushing the most expensive rings.
Once we have the selection narrowed down, Danny texts a photo of the remaining contenders to Ruthie. His phone immediately rings, which makes me smile. She’ll be excited, I’m guessing. Knowing her, she’ll feely guilty, too, and wonder if we’re screwing up by not leveling with Danny.
By now, I’ve convinced myself waiting is better. I don’t want to mess up his proposal. While this thing with Ruthie and me is a business arrangement that has a sell-by, Danny intends for his marriage to last forever.
“I’d better take this outside,” my buddy says, lifting the phone. And I’d bet all the money in my bank account that he’s grateful for a few minutes of peace—even if it’s just relative peace since the jewelry shop is off Patton Ave, which is always loud and busy, even in late January when the tourists haven’t started filtering back in like a cloud of locusts.
Michael watches him walk out of the shop, then turns to me with a shrewd look. “You’re not trying to propose to his woman first, are you? Because, if so, I’d feel honor-bound to tell him. That guy’s in love. I’ve seen it a thousand times. You…” He gives a jury’s out shrug.
I laugh. “You’ve seen something like that happen, huh?”
He gives me a real smile. “I’ve seen everything happen.” He shrugs again. “You’re looking for a ring, too, but you don’t want your friend to know. You can’t blame a guy for wondering.”
I don’t. If anything, I’m impressed.
I point to the ruby. “That one. And I’ll need a couple of simple wedding bands. Nothing to take away from the ring itself. I’ll buy them after my friend leaves.”
“The ruby’s the most expensive one,” he says, giving me a weighing look as he quotes the price.
I whistle, because it is expensive, but I think of Ruthie, of the way her face will light up when she opens the box. It’s illogical to care, since she’ll only wear it a few times, but maybe she can have it resized for a different finger after this is over. It can be a memento of our short-lived marriage.
