Page 114 of Kiwi Sin

“I don’t want a ring,” she said. “Not until we’re married. And if you’re thinking of kneeling down or something—I don’t need that, either. I just want you.”

“Good,” I said. “Because I want you, too.” My heart was so full, it was going to overflow.

I was going to be married.

Oriana said, “Will you take me for a ride, after this?”

“Yeh,” I said. “I will.” I’d take her for a ride, and I’d do everything we both wanted to do, too.

Well, almost everything.

She said, “Oh! I made a plum tart. You like that.”

“I do,” I said, and then remembered. “But I have something to give you first, and something to tell all of you. I warn you—it isn’t quite as nice.”

* * *

Oriana

I forgot about that last bit, because Gabriel said, “I need to go get the bag out of the ute.”

“OK,” I said, trying to be normal, trying to keep track of what was going on around me instead of just floating away on a cloud of happiness. “I’ll start the washing-up.”

Gray laughed. “On the night you officially get engaged? No. Priya and I will do the washing-up.”

The dishes had barely disappeared from the table, though, before Gabriel was back, carrying a plastic shopping bag. He said, “If everybody would just sit down a minute.”

My heart was beating hard. It was something about the look on his face, or the tension in his body. He tried to smile at me and couldn’t quite do it as he said, “I’ve been working on this for a while now, at Drew’s. I made a box, but you’ll probably have a better way. Something you sew, with individual pouches, and then roll up and tie. I saw some ideas online, but I can’t sew, so …”

Daisy said, “Gabriel. Would you justgiveit to her?”

He laughed a little, but said, “I’m nervous.”

“We see that, mate,” Gray said. “Give it to her anyway.” He was smiling, and he was holding Daisy’s hand.

It was like the pink cake with the candles, and it was so much better than that. It was like everybody singing that birthday song for you, but it felt like the angels were doing it.

Gabriel pulled a wooden box out of the bag. It was no larger than a big hardbound book, and was made of speckled rewarewa, the brown spots curling and swirling in a beautiful pattern on the buff background. I ran my hand over the gorgeously smooth, barely oiled surface, knew how hard he must have worked to get it that perfect, and said, “It’s beautiful.”

Gabriel said, “That’s not the gift.” He looked like he was trying to smile, but he couldn’t quite do it. “Open it up.”

I did. He’d fixed a brass clasp onto the lid, and I unhooked it, then held the two sides in my palms, took a breath, and opened the box with my thumbs.

It was lined in blue velvet.

And filled with knitting needles.

I picked up the first one. Two brass-colored metal needles attached to a blue cable, the points barely blunted. Two millimeters in diameter, maybe. Lace weight, and the smoothness and sharpness exactly what you needed to work with a yarn as delicate and fine as gossamer. Mohair and silk, and I could see the shawl now. I ran the needles through my hands, noticing how carefully he’d smoothed the ends, where he’d attached the cable. How had hedonethat?

Priya said, “Don’t just look atone.Show us all of them!”

He’d done eight sets, all the way up to nine millimeters. I pulled them all out and laid them on the table, and when I was done, I looked at Gabriel.

“You learnt to do this,” I said. “For me.”

“I did,” he said. “That first night, on the steps at Laila’s house, when you were knitting, I thought—anybody who’s that good at something needs the best tools. I read about how to do it, and then I did it. If you want love, real love, I reckon you’d better be willing to work for it.”

I said, “I love you.” I was crying, somehow, and I couldn’t stop. “Iloveyou.” After that, I was in his arms. Not kissing him, just holding on, laughing and crying.