The Purrfect Love Story
I said, nodding toward the box.
She did, fingers trembling. Inside was a ring that wasn’t traditional, because neither was she. A gold band carved with tiny filigree paw prints, each one set with a faint glint of fire opal, catching light like living flame. At its center was a marquise-cut citrine that shimmered warm and wild, like sunlight through smoke.
“Oh, meu Deus,” she whispered, voice breaking. “It’s… it’s perfect.”
“I figured,” I said, smiling a little. “You’re the fire, I’m the idiot who keeps running toward it.”
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