"I doubt it," he answers, looking up to give her a grin before he turns the box one way and then another, oohing and aahing over the ribbon, as if she was sincere about that bit.

"Excellent ribbon choice," he assures Chrissy before he pulls the bow to undo it. The ribbon falls away and he levers the lid off the box and stares down at what's inside.

For a second, he doesn't understand what he's seeing. Or he does, but he doesn't understand why and then, with a lurch of his stomach, he does. Eighty-six. It was his year, but it should have been hers, too. This delicate gold necklace with the shining numbers had sat in the hollow of Chrissy's throat all year, not that he'd noticed, of course, and definitely hadn't caught himself staring at it more than once.

"But," he says, lifting his gaze to look at her. "This is yours."