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“It was badass,” I say, before I think to bite my tongue.
“Thanks?” Paisley shoots me a look. Conversation over.
She’s probably worried about me turning the conversation toward what happened after the fight, her pretty ass over my lap for her first spanking.
I wouldn’t bring that up.
I have manners.
Smiling, Mrs. Bachman moves on to the next case. "What about this one? It has a simple design, but the diamond is still eye-catching."
Paisley glances down. “It is pretty, but I don’t know.” For the second time this morning, she looks up at me, asking my opinion.
“What do you think, Sav?” she says. “See anything you like?”
“Me?” Sav.
It’s the first time she’s called me this. She’s the only one who’s ever called me Sav. I can’t decide how I feel about it. “Let me see.” I walk further into the room, past the classic engagement rings.
There’s a case of rings filled with different sizes and shapes of gemstones. Only one catches my eye. An aquamarine oval, set in four prongs, the platinum band dotted with sparkling diamonds. The beautiful gem is the exact same color as Paisley’s eyes.
“This one,” I say, pointing at the ring. The women quickly come over to join me. I ask the saleswoman, “Can we see this one, please.”
I watch Paisley’s face as the ring is lifted from the case. Her eyes widen, a little smile coming to her pretty lips. “Oh,” she says. “That is pretty.”
“It matches your eyes.” I feel like I’ve overstepped the moment I say the words. It doesn’t help that Mrs. Bachman is giving me a funny little smile.
“Dad bought me blue too.” Mrs. Bachman holds up her hand, waggling her fingers, her rare blue diamond catching the light. We’ve all heard about her ring, her and Bronson’s love story. It’s kind of a family legend.
Paisley sounds wistful. “That’s kind of romantic, isn’t it? If I get blue too.”
Her mother nods. “And you won’t have to worry about finding something blue when you walk down the aisle.”
“Why do you need something blue?” I ask. All three women stare at me. “What?”
“For good luck!” Mrs. Bachman says.
“Haven’t you heard the saying, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” Paisley asks.
“No.” I make a point of avoiding all wedding-related nonsense. “I haven’t.”
I figure engagement ring shopping isn’t the time to say I run in the opposite direction of all things matrimony.
“You put it on her,” Mrs. Bachman says. “You picked it.”
The saleswoman hands me the ring from the black velvet display. This seems strange. But then Paisley holds out her hand.
My simple touch makes her blush. I slip it on her ring finger. “It fits. Perfectly. What are the odds?”
“It’s stunning.” She positions the ring under a light, letting the diamonds sparkle and shine as she admires it with a smile. “It’s perfect. Isn’t it?”
“Oh, sweetheart!” Mrs. Bachman grabs her daughter’s hand, staring at the ring. “It really is perfect.”
The three women chat, then the Bachman ladies do a little more shopping.
I stand aside, refocused on security.
At one point Mrs. Bachman whispers something to Paisley. Paisley says, “Really?” looks at me, and gives a giggle. I ignore it. About half an hour later, they seem to be finishing, packages being wrapped in white paper.
