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“In my pocket because we’re not ready to announce it. They hope it’s as big as Ciara’s—sixteen carats.”
I scoff. “They’re ridiculous, and you wouldn’t want something that big.”
She pulls out a paper from the back pocket of her jeans. “Maybe they’re ridiculous, but I made a hundred dollars today from Ms. Jonsie.”
“How?”
“She gave me this as our wedding present.”
I facepalm my forehead. “This is getting ludicrous.”
“Small town, remember?” She shrugs. “We’ve been living in sin for years. Their prayers have finally been heard.”
The laugh is what gets me to relax. This is the first time since… before Mane’s wedding that she’s her old self.
“Would you elope?”
She folds the check again, handing it to me. “Here, shred it. I’d marry… well, it depends.”
“On?” I put the check in my pocket so I can destroy it. There’s no way we’ll cash it.
“Am I going to Vegas or Switzerland?”
“Why Switzerland?”
“Can you imagine marrying in the middle of the mountains? Right by a lake with only a few friends witnessing the moment. It could be in summer during sunrise or sunset.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into our fake wedding.”
“Not really. I’m just making this up as I’m talking.” She laughs.
“What were you going to do for your wedding three years ago?”
“It was going to be in Chicago. Roland wanted it to be close to his family, or was it where his parents got married?” She shrugs. “I really can’t remember the logistics. Shall I dare to ask if you’ve ever thought about your wedding?”
“I like the idea of the mountains and the lake. If that’s what you want, I’ll take you anywhere in the world.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t just leave it to me. It’s your day too.”
“Yeah, but I only care about standing in front of you and professing my eternal love”—I lean closer to her, our lips almost touching—“Promising forever.”
She swallows hard, and her breath hitches. “I wouldn’t marry you, even if I turn forty and we’re still single.”
“Because you don’t think I love you.”
She nods.
“Fair enough. But can you accept dinner from me?”
“Yes, and I’ll even take some dessert if you offer it.”
I pull out my phone. “I’ll ask Nando to bring it over.”
“You’re a good man, Iskander Cantú. Maybe a little therapy might get you the girl next time.”
As I’m texting Nando our usual order, I say, “I’m not sure if you’re giving me hope or letting me down gently.”
She shrugs.
