Jonah knows what you’re thinking. He knows what you want. He knows. He’s seen how you eye your friends’ engagement rings and baby posts. He’s noticed how long you linger at jewelry kiosks in the mall. You’re not slick, though he doubts you’re trying to be at this point.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Jonah whispers, kissing the top of your head as he hands you small wrapped box. It’s small enough to hold a ring, but it doesn’t. It’s a necklace. A very nice and expensive necklace, but just a necklace.