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I shove him playfully. “No,” I confess. “It’s never even crossed my mind.”
He kisses me on the forehead. “Why would it?” he asks rhetorically. “You’re just a baby.”
I sit up stiffly.
“I am not a baby,” I insist, eyeing him mischievously.
“In many ways, Brynne,” he says sincerely. “You are more mature than I am. I just meant chronologically.”
He takes my hand in his and fiddles with my ring. He winks.
“I have a ring for a man if you want to wear it,” I say eagerly.
“Guys don’t wear engagement rings generally,” he says. “But go get it. Let’s see if it fits.”
“It’s not real,” I warn him. “I mean in the sense that it’s actual gold. I think it’s a mix of silver and copper.”
“If it comes from you,” he says softly. “That’s as real as it gets.”
I jump off the bed, go to my dresser, and open a cedar box. I pulled out my one and only man’s ring in my collection. He holds out his finger so I can slip it on. My face turns on with glee.
“Perfect!” I declare. “You don’t mind the colors?”
“I love them,” he promises. “Can I have it?” He cups the back of my head so that he can kiss me.
“Yes,” I purr.
“I love it,” he says, stroking my thigh. “Let’s go downstairs.”
“You want to go downstairs?” I question seductively.
He takes a breath like he is summoning his strength. “I do,” he says. “Bring your yoga gear.”
He has a smoldering look in his eye. This now feels like he’s got something planned. Or, at least, I think I know.Bringing my yoga gearis clearly a clue.
“I’ll be right down,” I say as he dashes from the room.
Now I know he is up to something.
I take a quick shower and ease into my yoga tights. Once dressed, I choose a pink crop top, grab my mat, and zip barefoot down the winding stairs to the beach and my yoga platform. I think I’ve figured out the surprise when I see Jack standing on the edge.
“Are you going to do yoga with me?” I call out with a smile.
“I am,” he says. Jack has a tank top and a pair of jogger sweatpants on.
“We better get moving,” I say. “Get warm and stay warm.” We both roll out our mats.
“Wait, wait,” he says. “You’re the pro, but I have to re-direct. He adjusted our mats slightly so we were closer to the inner edge of the platform.
“Okay,” I say, not understanding why he made that random adjustment. “A little yoga OCD?”
“We’re good to go,” he says, smiling brightly.
I study him.He’s smiling a lot for yoga.“Have you done this before?” I ask.
“No,” he says and then looks guilty.
“You thought it was for sissies,” I say.
