The store’s back room is a combination of an office for me and a small production studio for Sophie. My favorite item in the room is Helen’s old leather armchair, and I slump into it. I use a heavy hand to pour myself a drink, and then I pull up Faye’s ring shot again. It looks like an old European-cut diamond on a gold band—small, but surprisingly expensive, since that cut is no longer made. The only available stones in that style are antiques. I try to zoom in to get a better look at the diamond’s quality, but my finger slips and I accidentally graze the “heart” button. Fuck. I liked it. I liked Faye’s engagement announcement.

In desperate times like these, I have a game I like to play. I unlock one of the TL-30 safes in the back. (You can’t get insurance for a fine jewelry business without them. The safe’s door is six inches thick and can survive a continuous half hour of destruction by every imaginable thief’s tool before it’ll break—and the minute it senses damage, it triggers a call to the police.) I select a three-carat, round-cut ring with side stones. It’s not what I’d ever choose for myself, were I really to get engaged (too glitzy, too heavy, too trendy), but I slide it onto my left ring finger anyway.

Here’s my dirty secret: when the irony of being a single girl who sells engagement rings for a living becomes too much, I blow off a little steam by making fake engagement announcements. I stage ring shots and pair them with overwrought captions like, “I can’t wait to marry my best friend!” or “ ‘You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you.’ —Stephenie Meyer, Twilight” and pile on hashtags like #engaged, #isaidyes, #waitingforthewedding. Of course, I never actually post any of them; I save them as drafts. It’s like writing a nasty letter to an ex to unload all your feelings, then ripping it into pieces.

But now I need a backdrop—the shop feels too stale. I fling open the front door, stepping out into the twinkling darkness. I splay my left hand out in front of me and use my right hand to snap a picture. The rain has stopped by now, leaving a glinting sheen to the street. Behind my hand, pretty string lights pop. The streetlights cast an angelic glow. Perfect.