Put a Ring On It (23 page)

“It's classic,” Brighton assured her. “Like a little black dress or a strand of pearls.”

“Classic,” Lila echoed. “Maybe you're right.”

“I'm definitely right,” Brighton said. “Ask him tonight. No stress, no drama, no agonizing wait.”

But Lila couldn't seem to shake the last vestiges of hesitation. “Should I be worried that this all seems too easy?”

“I'm no expert.” Brighton sighed. “But I'm pretty sure that this part of love—the falling in love and deciding to get married—is supposed to be easy.”

“You're right.” Lila brightened and clasped her hands. “I love him so much, Brighton. I hope he says yes.”

Brighton gave her a look. “Are you really worried about that?”

“No.” Lila flipped her hair. “How could he resist me? He can't. We're meant to be.”

“I'm sure you're going to be very happy together. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to return a client call.” She stepped outside and dialed Malcolm's number. “Good news—the ring is ready and it looks beautiful. I took a few photos and I'm texting them to you right now.”

“You think she'll like it?” he asked.

“She'll
love
it,” Brighton assured him. “The metalwork is perfect and the diamond is gorgeous.”

“I hope she says yes.”

“How could she resist you? You two are meant to be.”

“When can I pick it up?” he asked.

“Yes, about that . . .” Brighton tried to sound brisk and businesslike as she implemented phase two of the plan. “I can't keep it in the safe here, obviously, because I don't want Lila to see it. So I've asked Jenna at the Whinery to keep it in her office safe.”

“That's great,” Malcolm said. “Because I was planning to propose at the Whinery.”

“What a coincidence! This is definitely fate. Tell you what—we'll coordinate our schedules and this will all come together flawlessly.”

B
righton ran through the dark alley, jumping over puddles and banging her shoulder against the corner of the Dumpster in her haste.

“Ow.” She clutched her shoulder, then checked her watch and rapped on the unmarked metal door.

The door opened two inches. A voice whispered, “Did you bring the goods?”

“Yes.” Brighton clutched the velvet box in her jacket pocket. “Are the targets en route?”

“They should be here in about five minutes. I've got a bottle of Veuve Clicquot on ice.”

“Excellent.” Brighton slipped into the Whinery's storeroom, but before the door closed behind her, she heard another voice from the alley: “Hold the door!”

Brighton glanced at Jenna, who looked sheepish.

“Who's that?” Brighton asked.

Summer Benson slipped through the doorway, her eyes gleaming and her cheeks pink with excitement. “Did I miss it? Did I miss it?”

“No.” Jenna motioned her inside. “You got here just in time.”

“What is she doing here?” Brighton demanded. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Summer assured her. “I'm here to be a general nuisance and looky-loo.” She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “What can I say? I'm a sucker for a great love story.”

Brighton heard a soft knock at the door, then another voice asking, “Did I miss it?”

“Come on in—you're just in time!” Summer threw one arm around a tall, gangly teenager in an NYU T-shirt. “Brighton, this is Ingrid.”

Brighton looked at Jenna. “I thought this operation was top secret.”

“It is.” Jenna shrugged. “I only told one person—Summer.”

“And I only told Ingrid,” Summer said.

Everyone looked at Ingrid.

“I didn't tell anyone,” the teenager vowed. “Except Lila's mom.” She held up her cell phone, which she was using to FaceTime with a brunette who looked like a slightly older, even prettier version of Lila. “She wanted to see this.”

“
Bonjour
from Paris,
mes chéries
!” The brunette waved.

Brighton looked around in dismay. “This is not what we planned.”

“So we'll move on to Plan B,” Jenna said. “Total chaos.”

Brighton swallowed all her protests about the need for order and control. She stood back, let the chaos wash over her, and tried to embrace the vibrant, vivacious community that surrounded her.

Summer peeked out into the bar area and hissed, “You guys, you guys, they're here! Shh!”

“Shh!”

“Shh!”

The squeals and pleasantries dissolved into everyone shushing one another with maximum lung power. The storeroom sounded like a nest of vipers.

“Now what?” Ingrid whispered. Everyone turned to Brighton.

She produced the ring box. “Now we pour the champagne.”

With a smooth, practiced efficiency (“I used to be a flight attendant, you know”), Summer filled two champagne flutes and handed them off to Jenna.

“And . . . action.” Jenna headed out to the barroom.

The rubberneckers in the back room clustered around the tiny round window in the door, delivering a play-by-play for those who couldn't see:

“She just saw the ring in her glass!”

“He just saw the ring in his.”

“They're both shocked . . . they're laughing . . . they're kissing . . .”

“Hold up the phone!” Lila's mother cried via AT&T. “I can't see!”

“Wow. They're still kissing.”

“I'd say they're beyond kissing. This is more making out territory.”

“Necking?”

“Heavy petting?”

“They're stopping. They're . . . Oh shit, I think they saw us.”

Commence giggling and a new round of
shh
-ing.

Lila's voice rang out, loud and clear: “How many people are back there?”

Summer gave everyone a stern look, pressed her finger to her lips, and cracked open the door. “One?”

Brighton had tears in her eyes from trying to suppress her laughter.

“Well, we appreciate the support, but show's over,” Lila called. “Skedaddle.”

Malcolm was much louder and more direct. “Get out.”

Summer yelled back, “Don't you want us to stay and have a celebratory glass of champagne with you guys?”

“No!”
Malcolm and Lila screamed in unison.

“All right, all right, we can take a hint.” Jenna pitched her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “But before we go, let's set the record straight: Who proposed to who?”

“‘Whom,'” Ingrid corrected.

“Is it ‘whom'?” Brighton asked. “I can never remember—”

“Get! Out!”
the newly engaged couple roared.

The looky-loos obliged, filing back into the alley, all atwitter and aglow.

“They're so happy,” Ingrid murmured.

“Their kids are going to be gorgeous,” Summer predicted.

“I'll have to find something spectacular to wear to the wedding,” Lila's mother declared via FaceTime.

Jenna turned to Brighton with a triumphant smile. “We did it. They both got what they wanted, and they're going to live happily ever after.”

Brighton tried to smile back. “Does that actually happen in real life?”

“Of course it does.”

“Hmm.”

“It happens,” Jenna assured her. “This town is magical that way.”

“I don't believe in magic,” Brighton said.

“Stick around.” Summer gave her an enigmatic smile. “You will.”

•   •   •

Late that night, Brighton tossed and turned on Kira's couch while Rory snored on the floor next to her. Even as her body grew more fatigued, her mind raced with thoughts about what would happen tomorrow when she got into her car and drove back to New Jersey. She'd been gone for only a few weeks but she couldn't imagine walking back into her office. She couldn't imagine battling morning traffic and stressing over Excel spreadsheets and jogging on a treadmill instead of skateboarding down a hallway.

Jake Sorensen had ruined her for real life.

And she had to leave, but she'd been lying when she told him she had nothing else to say to him.

Her phone rang just as she started to dial his number. The bright, cheery chime and the sight of his name on the screen unleashed a fresh flood of dopamine.

She swallowed hard as she held the phone to her ear. “I have something to tell you.”

“I have something to tell you, too,” he said. “Genevieve's gone.”

Her breath hitched, so loud that she was sure he heard it. “What happened? Did you give her the beach house?”

“No. I thought about what you said and I gave her a job.”

Brighton dug her nails into her palm. “So she'll be working with you?”

“She'll be working with Javier,” Jake corrected. “In Mexico. She's on the corporate jet right now.”

“She's willing to move to Mexico?” Brighton furrowed her brow. “She's willing to
get a job
? What kind of job?”

“That's Javier's call. I told him who she is and what she needs, and he said to send her down. He's taking care of it from this point forward. I'm not involved.”

“But how . . . ?” So many missing pieces in this story.

“I get things done.” His tone indicated he had concluded that portion of the discussion. “Come over.”

I'm leaving town in less than twenty-four hours. What's one more night, give or take?

Despite the distance between them, she felt as though he were right next to her, murmuring into her ear. Before she could protest, she was already up, slipping into her shoes, reaching for her hairbrush so she would look pretty for him. “We said last time was the last time.”

He paused. “I never said that.”

“I did.”

“Come over. I'll do anything you want.”

“Anything?” she pressed.

“Anything.”

And just like that, she was hoping again. Hoping that this time would be different. But they were still holding back, hedging their bets. Both so afraid of getting hurt that they were hurting each other.

The time had come to go nuclear.

“You want me? You got me.” She headed for the bathroom, lipstick in hand. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“I
have to tell you something.” Two hours later, Brighton sprawled in the middle of Jake's big white bed, her bare skin bathed in moonlight.

She waited for him to reply, then realized he'd fallen asleep. For a moment, she considered curling up next to him and drifting off, too. Maybe tonight would be the magical moment when everything changed. Maybe tomorrow morning he'd still be here when she woke up.

Or maybe not. She nudged his arm. “Hey.”

He stirred and reached for her. “Hmm?”

“I have to tell you something.”

He yawned and pulled her back down against him. “Shoot.”

She turned her face away from him and took a deep breath. “I love you.”

The room went suddenly, totally still. He didn't move. She
didn't look at him. The moon shone down with steady, pale light, but the room seemed to go darker.

She said it again, louder this time. “I know it's against our code of conduct to say it, but it's true: I love you. I need you. I can't live without you.”

He'd gone so still and silent, she couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

Wait for it . . . Wait for it . . .

There was a chasm between them as black and endless as the ocean stretching out under the clouds. Finally, she couldn't stand the tension any longer. She gave him an easy out. “Could you go grab me some Gatorade, please?”

He left without a word, his steps slow and measured.

And he didn't come back.

Brighton located her phone and kept track of the minutes ticking by. After five minutes passed without any sound from downstairs, she put on her clothes and crept into his closet to retrieve one last item from their time together.

As she tiptoed toward the door, she heard a footfall on the step. She froze, her pulse pounding as she strained to hear.

Another footstep. He was coming up the back staircase.

He was coming back.

Brighton snatched up her shoes and her bag and fled down the front staircase.