“Do you think so?” Naomi murmured, shifting slightly to see it from another angle. “I’ve only been looking at ones with a narrow skirt, but I do love the way this one flairs without being goofy—”

Naomi broke off, catching herself but not fast enough. Eyes watering with happiness, Audrey pulled her friend around to face her. “You’ve been looking at. Naomi. Are you… are you and Oliver… are you engaged?!”

“Oh hell,” Naomi grumbled, rubbing her forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Claire asked, joining them.

Audrey looked at Naomi expectantly, since it wasn’t her news to share.

Naomi dropped her arm, then gave a small smile that spread into a wide, glowing grin almost immediately. “Oliver and I are getting married.”

Audrey made a squealing noise and pulled them both in for a hopping, awkward, three-way hug.

“How long? When did this happen? Why didn’t you say anything?” Audrey demanded when a laughing Naomi extracted herself from the mauling.

“He proposed a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh, Naomi. How’d he do it?” Claire asked, pressing her hands together and resting her fingers to her lips, eyes watering like Audrey’s were. “Sweet and romantic? Casual and cool? Huge spectacle?”

“The first one,” Naomi said with a smile that softened her features. “It was… perfect.”

“Details!” Claire pleaded as Audrey nodded in agreement.

“It was just a regular morning,” Naomi said. “I’d gotten ready for work and come into the kitchen. Oliver was already there, already dressed. He handed me a cup of coffee, with just the right amount of creamer—”

“I love when they get that right,” Claire said with an understanding smile. “It’s such a small thing, but so romantic.”

Audrey felt something tighten in her chest, realizing that she’d never had that kind of romance. Never had the chance to learn that sort of detail about someone. She and Brayden had rarely spent mornings together—he’d spent them with Claire, and she didn’t think he had ever bothered to learn her coffee preferences.

She’d spent the night at Clarke’s house twice now, making do with black coffee, no fancy chocolate syrup, and she was chagrined to realize that when Clarke had spent last night at her house, he’d had his coffee black that morning because it had never occurred to her to get milk for him. Because they didn’t have that kind of relationship, the kind where you took care to make sure the other person had coffee just the way they liked it.

Not that either had complained—they’d both made do with black coffee, no big deal. But was that the future of their marriage? Making do?

“Anyway,” Naomi was saying. “So Oliver hands me this cup of coffee, and out of nowhere he just says, ‘I want to give you sunbursts and marble halls.’ And I said yes.”