“You think I’m a robber?” Hana’s jaw dropped and she looked appalled. “That’s terrible!”
“We want to buy wedding rings,” Logan reassured them as an audience gathered. “We’re not vandals. Well, I can’t speak for my fiancé, but I’m not.”
“Would you like an ice pack for your head?” the manager offered. “It’s looking painful.”
Hana gulped and rubbed the red mark on her forehead. “No thanks,” she grumbled, glaring at Logan. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and ignored the dig in the ribs she administered. The security guard bumbled away, puffing from the excitement.
“Come inside,” the manager said, crooking a long finger towards Hana. “How can I help you?”
Hana glanced down at her ring finger, flexing her painful wrist and ruing the spiteful cut from the spiky plant across the space
