The ring in Everett’s pocket seemed to have its own gravitational pull. He felt weighed down by it and half wondered why nobody seemed to notice him compulsively checking its presence. He wasn’t sure he could be more nervous if he were legitimately proposing, which was absolutely ridiculous. It was supposed to be a quick, impulsive act of kindness, over and done with. Now here he was, on Valentine’s Day of all days, waiting for a first date.
“Table for two,” he told the hostess.
The woman’s gaze flicked up, then down, seeming to linger on the bulge in his pocket.
Great, it is noticeable, Everett thought with disgust.
“Nice sweater,” she said, her lips twitching.
Shit. That confirmed his suspicions. He looked like a complete a*s in this sweater. But he’d given his coat away to A
