“Can I—” She doesn’t finish the question. Owen flips it open himself and holds it out to her like he’s been waiting for her reaction and loves it.
The ring shines from the overhead light. It’s big, flashy. Something my mother would wear to show off her wealth. She probably helped him pick it.
But it’s not Sawyer.
Sawyer doesn’t wear much jewelry. When she does, it’s small. Understated. The kind of pieces you have to be close to notice. Owen’s been with her for years and somehow got her a ring thatbelongs on someone else’s hand. I only hope he found a way to pay for it on his own, because my parents sure as fuck can’t afford it.
I pick up my water.
“Owen.” Ella’s voice has gone soft in a way I don’t recognize. She reaches out and takes the box from him, tilting it slightly like she needs the angle to believe it’s real. “It’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“So perfect.” She sets the box down and touches the stone with one fingertip, and I don’t know why, but that gesture has me clenching my water glass. “She’s going to lose her mind.”
“That’s the hope.” Owen grins. That fucking grin that gets him everything.
Ella lifts the ring from the box, and I watch, my eyes wide, because what the hell? She slides it onto her finger—just the tip, not all the way—and holds her hand out toward the window like she’s checking how it looks in the light.
“God,” she breathes. “I can’t wait until I get engaged.”
“It’ll happen,” Owen says, sounding like he cares more than he should. His eyes slide to me.
Is he fucking nuts?
Ella laughs and takes the ring off, carefully setting it in the box. Her fingers linger on the velvet for a beat too long before Owen closes it and pockets it again. I drain the rest of my water and avoid looking at Ella.
It’s quiet again while all of our minds work, clearly thinking different thoughts. The monotonous restaurant sounds float around us. A baby crying a few tables over, chairs scraping, forks clattering, some Elvis song playing on the speakers. I’m glad for it because I don’t think I can form words at the moment.
“She doesn’t know?” Ella asks.
“Nope. No idea.”
Ella’s shoulders sag, but she recovers quickly, smiling again. “You’re such a romantic.”
Owen leans back in the booth, resting his hands on the ledge behind him. “I try.”
I set my glass down and tap the table. “It’s a ring, not a handwritten sonnet.”
Owen looks at me. “Don’t be bitter.”
“I’m not bitter.”
“You look bitter.”
“I look like myself. You just don’t know the difference.”
Owen throws a sugar packet at me. I let it bounce off my chest. So fucking immature. Ella’s hand finds my forearm under the table, palming it with light pressure, reminding me she’s there. I let it stay for a few seconds, then I reach down to pick up the sugar packet off the seat.
“So, do I have your blessing?” Owen asks me.
“Why the hell would you need that? I’m not her father.” Ella lets out a small giggle at my comment.
“I don’t know. You’re my big brother. Seems like the right thing to ask.”
I look at the sugar packet in front of me, at my plate, at anything else. Then my eye catches on the bathroom door swinging open.
Sawyer’s coming back through the dining room, weaving between tables with her bag over her shoulder, scanning the booth before she reaches us. Always looking for Owen.
