“Way cheaper. The cheapest you have, actually,” Emery interjects.
I shake my head. “Em…”
She holds her hand up, stopping me. “That’s it, Graham, or I walk out this door. I sincerely appreciate the fact that you want to get me something lavish, but this engagement is fake, and you work hard for your money. Please, just let's pick out the cheapest one they have. Once we’re done pretending, I’ll give it back, and you can sell it.”
The words shouldn’t cause lead to form in my stomach, but they do. I don’t want her to ever fucking give it back to me.
I know pressing right now will cause her to run, and we’ll be back at square one. So, I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets.
Thirty minutes later, we walk out with a one-carat diamond, in the cheapest setting that Harry Winston makes. The entire ride home, Emery stares at the ring on her finger, fidgeting with it until I pull up in her driveway.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her nervous, not in all of the time that I've known her.
Putting the truck in park, we sit there silently. A minute passes before she speaks, “I appreciate it, Graham. I do. Please don’t think that I don’t. I just… I can’t accept something like that. I can’t. This will do the job, and then some. It’s more than enough. You are more than enough.”
Ignoring the pull in my chest at her words, I nod and get out to open her door then help her out of the truck. We walk side by side to her front door, and she unlocks it and turns the handle to walk in but stops to face me.
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing, Em.”
She opens her mouth to say something then closes it, visibly swallowing. It’s the first moment between us that has felt different. Deeper. Beyond the surface.
“I appreciate it. I appreciate how you wanted to do something so special and selfless. I just don’t want to take advantage.” She steps over to me and slides her arms around me, in a lingering hug that I feel in my fucking bones. “You are a good man, Graham Adams. I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”
“Tomorrow.”
When the door closes behind her, I walk back to my truck, a part of me wondering what it would be like for things to be real between us.
The other part, wishing that they were.