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Jackie: 3 months? Who the hell gets married after 3 months?
Penny: EXACTLY!
Chelsey: How are you doing? Are you okay?
Penny: I don’t know how I feel about any of it.
Chelsey: Well, of course you don’t. He’s the only man you’ve ever loved.
Penny: Is he? Is that really possible?
Jackie: It is. You’ve lusted for plenty.
Jackie: An entire football team’s worth of lusting.
Penny: I get the point.
Chelsey: So he told you he’s planning on proposing tomorrow?
Penny: Not exactly.
Jackie: Wait. Why do you think he is?
Penny: He has a box from Tiffany’s in his bag.
Penny: It’s ring shaped.
Penny: Why else would he carry a ring-shaped box from Tiffany’s if he didn’t plan on proposing? Rings aren’t like condoms.
Chelsey: There’s a lot to unpack here.
Aidan thrashes back and forth in the back seat.
“I think he’s having a night terror or something. Any idea on how to snap him out of it?”
“Slap him?” I shrug.
“I’m not slapping our driver.”
“He hasn’t been our driver for the last thirty minutes that he’s been unconscious.”
“There’s a bottle of water in the driver’s side door. Hand that to me.”
“You’re going to waterboard the guy that’s terrified of the rain? The man is literally trying to build an army of beavers and ducks.”
Aidan throws a lazy haymaker in Smith’s direction.
“Water. Now.”
“Fine.” I climb into the driver’s seat and grab the bottle of water. I toss it to Smith. “If he ends up murdering you in his sleep, I promise to take good care of Harriet.”
Smith rolls his eyes before turning his attention back to Aidan.
I go to move back to my seat, but my foot catches on the strap of Smith’s bag, spilling half its contents onto the floorboard. “Shit. Sorry,” I say. “I’ll clean it up.”
Smith waves over his shoulder. He’s too busy baptizing the demons out of Aidan to pay any attention to me.
I scoop up his pens, gum, and other miscellaneous items—honestly, he carries more stuff around in his purse than I do—all the while keeping an eye on the jewelry box. This feels like a test from the universe. Like whether or not I open this box says something about the kind of person I am. Technically, Smith didn’t tell me not to open it up. In fact, he’s invited me into his bag twice since we’ve been stuck in this van from hell, and I am only a mere mortal. A mere mortal who won’t be able to sleep unless she knows if her ex-husband is going to propose to someone he’s only known for ninety days.
