Page 107 of The Puck Bunny

Everyone in the place is openly gawking at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he steers me to a salesclerk.

I, however, do notice that we’re a sideshow right now.

“You’re Quinn James,” the manager says. “How can I help you?”

“Thank you… Mr. Rosen, is it?”

The man nods.

“Well, I’m in a hurry, but I’d like to buy a diamond ring. To take with us.”

I register Mr. Rosen’s delight and the buzz in the room and Quinn asking me if I have a preference, but, somehow, I feel like I’m still missing a big piece of this puzzle. I want to ask him why he’s buying me a diamond ring, but, at the same time, I sense it would be the wrong thing to say. Not that I can figure for the life of me what the right thing is.

Mr. Rosen sets a velvet-lined box with five giant diamonds in front of me after exchanging a few quiet words with Quinn that I don’t hear.

I look around and there are a couple of older women smiling at me. They wave. I’m about to wave back when Quinn gets my attention.

“Do you have a preference, sweetheart?”

“Preference?” I look up at him.

He leans in and whispers, “It’s okay. I know it’s a surprise, but trust me, okay?”

Is it okay? My belly flips when I allow myself to think about what’s really happening once I take the willful blinders off—the ones protecting me from expecting too much.

When I look down at the tray of diamonds, my heart leaps to my throat because they are real. Quinn James is really—for-honest-to-goodness-real—buying me a freaking diamond ring.

His eyes are on me, then nuzzles my temple. “Do you need help choosing?” he asks.

I laugh because it’s the most absurd question that anyone in the history of the world has ever asked me. “Heck, no. I want this one.” I lift the brilliant square-cut rock from the middle of the tray, forcing myself not to ask the price. I want to know because he shouldn’t spend an obscene amount, but I can’t allow myself to be that awkward girl. I need to do better.

“Excellent choice,” Mr. Rosen says politely.

“Put it on your finger, Sara.”

Quinn says the words and they mean so much more than he’s saying. There’s so much missing from this moment.

My heart drums fast and I look at the diamond ring in my hand, so sparkly and real, wondering how there could be anything wrong.

I slip the ring on my finger. It slides to the side, a little loose .

“It’s a half-size too large,” Mr. Rosen says. “Maybe less. I can fix that.”

“We’ll bring it back to have it fixed. I’ll arrange it with you later,” Quinn says. He hands his platinum credit card to the jeweler who nods and grins broadly, then disappears into the back room.

Quinn takes me by the shoulders as I stare down at the ring, mesmerized. “Sara.”

I look up at him, ignoring the open stares and whispers getting louder all around. I see someone slipping a phone into their bag and my stomach clenches. Crap.

“What are we doing, Quinn?” I whisper, trying to keep the panic from my voice. Because I suddenly realize what’s wrong with this picture. He’s buying me an engagement ring, but he’s never asked me to marry him, not even asked… anything. Never said he loves me, never… anything.

Mr. Rosen comes back with the receipt and a velvet bag.

With a hand on the small of my back, Quinn escorts me out of the store, oblivious of all the people watching us, smiling, and, yes, taking pics with their phones. Crap.

In the car, I let out a long breath. “Tell me you didn’t just buy me a diamond ring.”

“But I did.”