“Which hand?”
“I’m not doing this.”
“Come on, entertain me—which hand?”
“That one.” Sara slapped my fist before rolling back over against her pillow.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She stared up at the ceiling, bored of my game.
“Really, really sure?”
“Let’s just get up and go out,” she said impatiently.
“Want a clue?”
“A clue for what?” She crinkled her eyebrows.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“For what’s in my hand.”
“Fine—give me a clue.”
“I love you.”
She continued to stare at the ceiling.
“Never mind.” I tucked the ring under my pillow.
