“Take some breaths. We’re going to figure this out,” my mom tells me.

I’m breathing, but I’m too aware and laser-focused on the difficulty level of what I’m about to do. And what I’m about to do is normal.

So normal. It shouldn’t be this epically complicated.

Janie offers a cup of hot tea to me as a calm down tactic. I shake my head stiffly, and she places the cup back on the oak desk.

The three of us are huddled in my parent’s home office, facing a humongous desktop computer. My gangly mom sits close to the screen, the large leather chair making her appear even smaller. Jane and I pushed up two velvet, lilac armchairs to the desk.

I control the computer’s mouse. Clicking through websites and scrolling along pages of wedding bands. Nothing jumps out at me. I thought it’d be obvious when I started looking, but…nothing.

“Let’s start with engraving,” my mom suggests. “Yes or no?”

My pulse speeds, and I narrow my gaze at the screen. Engraving? I think he’d like that, but it’d depend on what words are engraved. “I don’t know…I don’t fucking know.”

My mom squeezes me in a side-hug. “You don’t need to worry. Farrow will love whatever you pick out because you picked it. I know he will.”

It’s a calming thought, mostly because it’s coming from my mom. I look over at her. She’s still beaming. Glowing. Her cheeks are red she’s been smiling and tearing up so damn much.

Like right now, she wipes the corners of her eyes.

Jane sniffs, misty-eyed too, her retro sunglasses blocking her tears, and my heart feels fucking swollen it’s so full. Thirty minutes ago, I told them both that I planned to ask Farrow to marry me.

Neither one of them thought I’d ever get married. Before I started a relationship with Farrow, I said I wouldn’t even date someone. I’ve let myself be happy. Really happy, and their happiness for me just overwhelms me tenfold.

My mom asked why I didn’t wait to tell her and my dad together. He wasn’t in the room. It’s pretty simple. My dad will spill the news to Uncle Connor and Uncle Ryke in a heartbeat, and at that point, it’ll start reaching my cousins, siblings and then security, Farrow’s friends.

My mom is a certified secret-keeper. One of the damn best, and I trust her and Janie not to tell a soul. Because if I want this proposal to go as planned, Farrow can’t know.

The media can’t know.

You can’t know.

So the only people allowed in on this right now are my mom and Janie. Done and done. I’ll let my dad, siblings, and the rest of my family in on it the day of the proposal. It’s a well thought-out plan, but I’m not going to lie, there are a few holes.

Like this fucking ring.

“Oooh this one is nice.” My mom points at the screen. It’s silver.

“No silver,” I declare. “He has a million silver rings. It won’t be special enough.”

“It’ll be special because it’s from you,” Jane reminds me with a sappy smile.

I think it’s more complicated than that. “Janie.”

“Moffy,” she replies. “I’m with Aunt Lily here, take a deep breath.”

My mom nods vigorously. “Oxygen is good for you.”

I groan and click into a new website. “Alright, say I do find the perfect ring…” I glance at my mom while she cups a Wolverine mug and takes small sips of coffee. “How am I going to actually get it?”

This is the part that’s been stumping me.

“I don’t want to order it online,” I tell them. “And there’s no possibility of me entering a jewelry store without the press or security finding out.”

Jane perks up. “We could ask a jeweler to come to the house and bring a wide selection.”

“What if the jeweler says something to the media?” I ask. “What if he breaks his NDA or what if paparazzi catch him coming into the neighborhood and they start speculating?”

Normally I wouldn’t care about any of this. Normally I’d move forward without pause and be like, this is my life. But I want this to be secret.

Jane puts her chin to her knuckles. “Hmm.”

My mom turns to me. “Would you be upset if someone else went for you?” she asks. I see tenderness and sympathy behind her green eyes. Because she knows in order to keep this a secret, I need to jump through extra hoops.

Jane chimes in, “And that person can pick out extra rings, so you’ll be able choose which you like best.”

That’s starting to make the most sense. But I just don’t know who I could send. “Janie,” I start.

She shakes her head. “I’d be just as easily spotted as you. Our family is out, and sending a bodyguard is out.” Anyone in security might tell Farrow. I’m not taking that risk.

“I don’t trust your assistant,” I tell my mom before she offers.

“That’s fine,” she replies, drumming her mug in thought. “Um…let me think. You scroll.” She waves me back to the computer.

Jane asks about gemstones, but I don’t see Farrow preferring a diamond or black sapphire. I think he’d want simple and sleek.

“I’ve got it.” My mom whips to me. “Your Uncle Garrison. He’ll easily be able to go to a jeweler’s without media attention. I’ll make him swear not to tell a soul. He won’t. He loves you too much.”

Yeah.

Yeah. That could work. You know very little about Garrison Abbey and his wife Willow Hale. They’ve managed to dodge the media here and there for the last two decades. No one stands outside their Philly loft unless paparazzi catch a more famous family member entering the building.

They don’t have bodyguards or daily magazine spreads about them. A few times a year, they pop up in an article. Sometimes more if they’re hanging with us, but no one will follow him. No one will care that he’s at a jewelry store.

This could work. I’m hanging onto that hope.