“What are you doing? Reading alone again?”
I glanced at Daniel. He was smiling at the porch light as though it had told a joke.
“Something like that.”
“You really should get out more, honey,” Diane laughed. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I know.”
“I’d like to be your man, if you’d have me.”
“I mean it,” my sister went on. “It’s getting kind of pathetic!”
I hung up gently, the way I always did, and let the silence settle back over the porch.
Daniel reached into his jacket. He didn’t kneel. He just opened his palm, and a small ring sat there, plain and warm.
“I’m not a rich man, Margaret.” His voice was quiet but certain. “But I’d like to be your man, if you’d have me.”
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