“Daisy,” he said. “You look—” He broke off, shaking his head, and fumbled something out of his pocket. It was a simple black velvet box. He held it out to her and she took it, quite surprised. “Our two-week anniversary,” he said, in answer to her quizzical expression. “But—I didn’t get you anything.” She took the box, the velvet nap soft against her fingers. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.” “You weren’t,” said James. “Sometimes I have foibles. This is one of them.” He grinned. “Open it.” She did, revealing, nestled on a bed of more dark velvet, a glimmering gold pendant on a chain. She drew
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Crying pt.3
