The rings were not what I expected.

Cᴀssandra had an appointment at a jeweler on Alberni Street the next afternoon. I met her outside at 2:15, still in the clothes I’d worn to the office. She was already there, coat ʙuттoned, checking her watch like the sidewalk was running late.

“You’re on time,” she said.

“You told me to be.”

Inside, the cases were full of diamonds that cost more than my car. The jeweler greeted Cᴀssandra by name and led us to a private room. Two simple bands sat on a black velvet tray. No stones. Just plain platinum.

Cᴀssandra picked one up and turned it under the light. “These will do.”

I looked at the price tag still attached to the tray. My mouth went dry. She noticed.

“The company is covering it,” she said. “It’s a business expense.”

“Right.”

The jeweler measured our fingers. Cᴀssandra’s hand was steady. Mine wasn’t. When he stepped out to write up the order, she set the band back on the tray and looked at me.

“You signed,” she said. “You can still change your mind before the license is filed. After that it becomes more complicated.”

“I know.”

“And you still want to do this.”

I thought about Bee’s cardboard forest on the kitchen table. The student loans. The apartment that might not be ours in a year. “I want Bee to have options I can’t give her on $87,000 a year. That’s the part I signed for.”

Cᴀssandra studied me for a second, then nodded once. “Understood.”

The jeweler returned. We chose the rings. Cᴀssandra paid. Outside, the wind off the water cut through my jacket. She stopped on the sidewalk before we reached the cars.

“My uncle will want to meet you before the wedding,” she said. “Dinner. Next Thursday. He’s bringing one of his sons. Be prepared for questions about how long we’ve been together and why no one at the office knew.”

“What do I tell him?”

“That we kept it private because I didn’t want it to affect your work. That we’ve been seeing each other for eight months. That you’re good with your daughter and I’m not interested in performing a family I don’t have.” She paused. “And that you make terrible coffee but excellent project schedules.”

I almost smiled. “That’s specific.”

“Details make lies harder to break.”

We stood there while traffic moved past. Cᴀssandra’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then put it away without answering.

“Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“When Bee asks who I am, tell her the truth you’re comfortable with. I won’t contradict you. But I also won’t pretend this is something it isn’t.”

“I already told you that.”

“I’m telling you I heard it.” She ʙuттoned the top of her coat. “Thursday. Seven o’clock. I’ll send the address. Wear the blue shirt you had on at the concrete meeting last month. It pH๏τographs better than the gray one.”

She walked toward her car. I watched her go, the small bag with the rings swinging lightly from her hand. For a moment I thought about calling after her and asking what happened if Bee liked her anyway. I didn’t. The light changed. I crossed the street toward the bus stop, hands in my pockets, and tried to remember whether I still owned a blue shirt that fit.