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luca

I am going to propose.

As in: marriage.

Does it feel too soon? Maybe.

But you only live once and I’ve found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with—why wait?

“Is it always this bright in here?” I squint, shielding my eyes as we walk through the jewelry store to a corner booth where the sales associate has everything laid out in anticipation for my arrival.

Including two glasses and a bottle of champagne.

The thing is—I already bought the ring. This isn’t a browsing trip. I’m not here to hold tiny velvet boxes with trembling fingers and weigh the emotional gravity of diamond cuts. That ship sailed three weeks ago when I spontaneously walked past this store and decided to push through the door.

Forty-five minutes later, I’d ordered the ring and today, I’m here to pick it up.

Gio claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You’re nervous. That’s why everything feels aggressive.”

“I’m not nervous,” I disagree .

He glances sideways. “You have armpit stains.”

I lift my arm to inspect my armpits; I’ve perspired through my sweatshirt and there’s nothing I can do about it but suffer through it.

The sales associate rises, gesturing for us to have a seat at the table where the ring box is centered under a spotlight like it’s being prepped for auction at Sotheby’s.

The box is open.

The diamond sparkles.

Wow. I am impressed. “It’s glowing.”

“It’s not glowing, bro. That’s the lighting.”

“Mr. Babineaux,” the associate says with a pleased smile. “We think you’ll find everything just as you requested. Platinum band, oval solitaire, hidden halo, custom engraving on the inside.”

Gio leans in. “You got it engraved?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “It says: ‘You’re stuck with me now.’”

Nova’s brother laughs. “She’s going to love it.” There’s a note in his voice I wasn’t expecting. Pride. Affection? “You’ve come a long way from the guy who once tried to cook frozen pizza without taking off the plastic wrap.”

He bursts out laughing. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m a romantic idiot,” I correct, staring at the ring—afraid to touch it.

The associate offers us champagne, which I accept solely to stop my hands from shaking and Gio watches me with one arm lazily slung over the back of the velvet bench.

“You gonna cry?”

“No.”

“You look like you might cry.”

“I’m not going to cry.” I might actually want to cry. “I’m sensitive, you fucker.”

I drain the champagne in one swallow .

Gio eyes me over the rim of his glass. “So how you gonna do it?”

“Do what?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Propose, dumbass. You think she’s gonna stumble across the ring in your sock drawer and put it on herself?”

I stare at the ring again, nestled in its velvet box; it’s perfect. Sleek and classic with a twist. The oval diamond sits in a platinum band, elevated by a hidden halo that flashes light every time it turns.

Delicate but strong. Bold but elegant.

Like her.

And on the inside, the engraving is etched in teeny, tiny, block letters: You’re stuck with me now.

It’s the exact kind of stupidly-sweet sentiment Nova will roll her eyes at—before bursting into tears.

God, I hope she cries.

Ha!

“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “I want it to be special, but not, performative. No stadium jumbotrons, too predictable.” I let out a deep breath and smile at the sales associate, who’s been patient while we screw around. “Honestly, I was going to set it on the shelf at the grocery store with the beans and pray to fucking God that she finds it before someone else does.”

Gio pulls face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I demand, face flushing. “It’s not like I was going to leave it next to the grapes or something. I have a plan!”

“Lettuce hear it,” he deadpans.

I glare at him. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious. Continue.”

I wave my champagne flute in the air. “I was going to suggest tacos for dinner. But I already know we don’t have all the ingredients, so I’ll be like, “Babe, wanna come with me to the grocery store, we need tomatoes and beef,” and she’ll come with me and boom— ring nestled between the franks and beans. ”

Gio is not impressed. “ That’s your plan?”

“Well, it was.”

“I’m still not over the fact that you plan to propose to my sister in a grocery store.”

His tone doesn’t faze me. “The grocery store holds a special place in our hearts. You wouldn’t understand.”

Nova’s brother sets down his glass and mutters, “Jesus Christ.”

The sales associate, who has patiently listened to this entire ridiculous exchange and is either deeply invested or bored, refills my glass with champagne. “I’d personally go to the floral department. Better lighting.”

Eh.

Gio blinks. “Am I the only sane person here?”

Possibly.

I sit back in my velvet chair and look down at the box again, afraid to touch it.

Sensing my hesitation, the associate reaches down and lifts the ring from its satin cushion, handing it to me across the table.

It’s heavier than I expected. Warmer, too? The smooth metal gleams under the recessed lighting, the facets of the diamond sparkling in a way that causes my throat to tighten.

I can picture her wearing it.

Sitting across from me at breakfast, wrapped in my sweatshirt, hair a mess and coffee in hand, that ring winking its commitment as it sits on her finger.

This is it.

This is the ring I’m giving to the love of my life .

This ring is going on her finger.

I stare at it.

Swallow hard before placing it back in the box. The lid clicks shut and I push the box across the velvet tablecloth toward the associate stoically .

She offers a pleasant smile and begins wrapping it with practiced precision—tissue paper, cushioned pouch, a sleek black bag with gold, braided handles.

I don’t say a word.

Can’t.

I’m too busy picturing what comes next.