The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(81)

Magnolia: Sounds about right.

Magnolia: Promise me you won't let him make any excessively odd choices. Odd is fine but not excessively odd. Grace does have a tiny mustache tattoo on her ring finger so…

Rob: I believe that's the entire reasoning behind my invitation to this event.

Magnolia: He invited you because you're his friend and he trusts your opinions.

Magnolia: He likes you. Even if he doesn't act like it.

Magnolia: But also, you have done this a few times.

Rob: You are so rude to me.





"Hey." Ben slapped the doorframe, snatching my attention away from the screen. He tipped his head toward the open door. "He's ready for us."

A man wearing a black apron covered in dusty handprints introduced himself as Syleski as he ushered us into the office. He pointed at the chairs in front of his desk, asking, "Rings, yes? That's what you want?"

Ben glanced to me, an oh fuck what am I doing? look on his face. I pulled out a chair, pushed him into it. "Yes," I answered. "He's looking for an engagement ring."

"Nothing traditional," Ben added. "It has to be different. Really unique."

I nodded but said to Syleski, "Not too different."

The jeweler ducked into the back section of the office while I shucked my winter coat, hung it over the chair. "Loosen up, Brock. You're going to survive."

He snapped off a response but I ignored him in favor of my phone.



Rob: He's not drunk enough for this.

Rob: Neither am I.

Magnolia: You can drink later. With me.

Magnolia: I want to see this ring and I don't think Ben has visited since before we finished work on the kitchen.

Rob: I am not bringing him home after this. I have other plans for our evening, love.

Magnolia: Are we talking plans or Plans?

Rob: Plans.

Magnolia: Maybe you should send me a dick pic so I know what to expect from these Plans.

Rob: You’re going to remind me of that on our wedding day, aren’t you?

Magnolia: Anything is possible.





Syleski returned with a velvet-covered tray and launched into a rapid explanation of each cut, style, material. The options seemed endless. At one point, I was certain Ben went cross-eyed.

"This is modern but also elegant," Syleski said, holding up a slight platinum band with a round diamond winking from the center. "Unique, yes?"

Ben shook his head. "No. That's not right for her." He glanced at me, his eyes wide and hair sticking in every direction after running his hands through it every forty seconds. "I need something as dark as her heart."

The jeweler's brows pitched up. "What he's saying," I jumped in, "is he'd like to see some colored gemstones."

"Do you have black diamonds?" Ben asked.

I swallowed a groan as Syleski answered, "A few, yes." He glanced at me for approval. I shrugged. "You want to see them?"

I glanced between Ben and the jeweler. "How about some black and some colored gemstones? More options."

When Syleski stepped away, Ben shifted to face me. "Am I fucking this up?"

"No, not at all. It's fine. These things take time. Lots of back and forth." I studied my phone for a second. "When are you planning to ask Grace? Do you have an idea how you want to do it?"

He huffed out a sigh and dropped every random proposal plan in the world on me. I smiled and nodded because it was evident he needed to work these options out, but my mind wandered back to the autumn morning Magnolia and I had closed on our new home.

We hadn't gone looking to buy a house together, but it seemed the house went looking for us. The brownstone sat adjacent to Hayes Park in the South End, not far from my apartment. We'd passed it while walking Gronk on several occasions, each time admiring the stained-glass windows, the dedicated parking, the neighboring rose garden. It wasn't until Magnolia's friend Riley mentioned he was considering it as a restoration project and wanted her input on the landscape design that we'd realized it was available.

And we wanted it. There was no shortage of work needed but we were up for those challenges. That, and her friends jumped at the idea of helping us fix up the house. Those were friends worth having.

Within two weeks, we'd made an offer, plunked down the cash, and had ourselves a home.

And when we'd pulled up in front of the house we'd bought together on that October morning, I asked Magnolia to get the keys from the front pocket of my laptop bag. She didn't see that pocket, instead reaching into the one where I kept an extra set of earbuds, some paperclips, and the engagement ring I'd been carrying around for more than a month. She pulled out a small manila envelope, one identical to the envelope containing the keys, and dropped a diamond into my palm.

She blinked furiously. "That's not a key."

"Nope," I replied.

"That's not a key," she repeated. "It's something very different from a key and I'm not sure whether this is a fun setup where I was supposed to find the thing that isn't a key or I went in the wrong pocket and this is a really big mistake."

I licked my lips. "Which do you want it to be?"

She kept blinking, her lips parted and her gaze fixed on the ring. "I think I know what you want it to be because you wouldn't have this thing that is not a key otherwise." She pushed her hair behind her ears, took a sip of her iced coffee, glanced at the brownstone. "And I think I know what I want it to be too but there's this little part of me"—she held up two fingers, barely an inch apart—"that doesn't believe you really want it. Doesn't want you to want me. That part is wrong and I know that but I have to mentally climb over those rocks first."