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Okay. I can live with that.

Even though I’m acutely aware that if this goes the wrong way, what we’ve had will collapse, and I’m not sure any version of us will be salvageable. Don’t think like that, Miller. Stay positive.

My phone chirps, jostling me out of my thoughts, and I dig it out of my pocket.

Chuck: Check your email.

I open my email and take the stairs, heading to the kitchen to finish putting away the groceries I had delivered. There’s a list of emails from Chuck’s office. I start at the one marked urgent at the top.

From: Lansing, Chuck

To: Finn Miller

Re: Offer | Siggy’s

Finn,

Offer confirmed from Siggy’s. See attached. Please review and call with questions. If it looks good, sign electronically.

One thing—see Addendum A to the offer. If you agree, they request your size and jewelry selections ASAP. They want any pictures that come out with their rings.

Chuck

I nibble my bottom lip, skimming the contract.

“Eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars distributed in four equal payments.” I shrug. “Sounds fair. One photo shoot. Sharing two social media posts—ugh. Blah, blah, blah.”

It all looks pretty standard to me. Don’t disclose contract terms, don’t promote another jewelry company during the term of the contract, usual moral clause.

I lean against the kitchen cabinet and open the second attachment. A catalog that’s double the size of the preliminary one Siggy’s sent yesterday unfolds on my screen. “Holy shit.”

Rings of all shapes and designs, with everything from diamonds to rubies to precious stones, are displayed for Poppy. I try to imagine each of them on her finger, but they all seem like contenders. It’s exciting to think that in a few days, one of these will be on her left hand as her commitment to me … even if it’s not exactly real.

Yet.

I hit forward on the email and send it to Poppy. Then I fire her a text.

Me: Hey, gorgeous. I sent you an email.

Poppy: I hope this is the least exciting thing I get from you today.

Me: I hope that a contract for eight hundred and fifty grand, plus a catalog of Siggy’s rings to choose from, doesn’t hold a candle to me … but I won’t hold my breath.

Poppy: Believe it or not, I’m MUCH more excited about seeing you tonight than I am about picking out a ring.

Poppy: Although that will be fun.

Poppy: HOLY CRAP FINN DID YOU LOOK AT THESE???

I laugh, loving that she’s enjoying this.

Me: Yeah. I tried to predict which you’d like, but I had no idea.

Poppy: I would feel like such a brat wearing some of these when people are starving.

“Look at Poppy having feelings,” I say, smiling softly at the phone. I can feel her excitement in her texts, and that is almost a relief. She’s not backing out, not getting cold feet.

I’ve known for a long time that behavior is a defense mechanism. It’s why she deflects or turns things into a sexual joke when she gets feel-y, as she calls it. I just haven’t been able to figure out why.