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The night I met Carter.
Aunt Olive makes a sizzling noise with her mouth. “Well, if you lost a $3,000 ring at a bar, you better get running.”
Her sentiment makes the muscles on my back tighten. “I think you’re right.”
And so, I quickly change and make my way to the bar.
Since it’s within walking distance of the apartment, I jog most of the way. But as I do so, a thought more horrifying than a stranger picking my engagement ring up welcomes itself in my mind: what if I left the ring at Carter’s apartment?
What do I do then?
I don’t want to see him again—not after I literally bolted out of his apartment without a word.
But if I have to? Would I?
No, never mind. He can keep the ring. He can resell it for himself, for all I care…
But Idocare.
That’s still Logan’s promise. And most importantly, it’s still $3,000. The latter can be the lie I continuously tell myself, so I can hold on to his false promise.
With my heart on my sleeve, I walk into the empty bar, mostly just employees cleaning the space.
The bartender looks up at the sound of the entrance door chiming. “Good afternoon—oh, Estelle, right?” he asks me, immediately recognizing me. “You’re here early.”
I laugh uncomfortably, knowing that he either remembers me because I frequent this bar so much or because I made a mess the last time I was here, and it made me unforgettable. “Um, yes. Glad you remember me.”
“Well, of course. We have a mutual friend: Carter Davison.”
“Oh.” My heart skips a beat. “Him.”
He looks over my shoulder. “He isn’t with you today?”
“No,” I answer with a bit of urgency. “But, I, um, actually came here for a different reason. You see, I was wondering if I dropped a… ring here at the bar? It’s a small diamond-studded, pear-shaped ring.”
“That looks like an engagement ring?” he confirms more than asks.
I feel my face brighten in relief. “Yes! Is it here?”
“It was,” he replies as he proceeds to wipe the glasses squeaky dry. “But I handed it to Carter yesterday. He was here all day, asking if you dropped by. That’s when I gave him the ring. I figured the first date wasn’t as great as it should’ve been, huh?”
For starters, it wasn’t a first date—I want to correct him.
Secondly, does this mean I have to get the ring from Carter himself?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Finally, how?
As if the bartender could read my mind, he scours the drawer to his side and slides a piece of paper toward me. “He left his number here, though. He says you could call him about the ring while he keeps it safe.”
I hesitate to take the piece of paper, but that would make this whole encounter even more awkward than it already is, so I take it, slightly crumpling it in my hand. “Thank you.”
As I get out of the bar, I feel the paper against my palm, debating how important that engagement ring is to me. Is it more important than my pride? Do I want to see it again enough to see Carter?
I unfold the paper and read the random numbers before me. All I have to do is type it on my phone and press call, and I can get my ring back.
But the shame I still feel from that one-night stand creeps from the bottom of my spine all the way to the back of my neck. And so, I shove the paper in my pocket and begin walking back home.
