Afterward, we lay there for a while, feeling the breeze blow in through the open windows, a breeze that smelled of pine and sun-warmed grass. I gazed down at the ring, thinking how perfect it was, how perfectly it fit me. “How did you pick it out?” I asked, turning my hand so the light from the window struck the diamond, scattering sparks all around the room.
“I guess it sort of picked me out. There’s a shop around the corner from the tapas place that sells antiques but also has a selection of antique jewelry, and when I was out I stopped in to take a look. Can’t even say why, really — it was just an impulse, I guess.” We exchanged a smile at that comment; lately, our impulses seemed to be directed by a higher power. “I saw the ring, and just thought it looked like you. I couldn’t really
