Grant was determined. He thought, “Third time’s a charm.” But it wasn’t. They vacationed in Paris. He proposed at the Eiffel Tower, in the small park where they took selfies sitting in front of tulips. He knelt. She said, “That’s so retro.”

The next day at Versailles, he brought the box out and showed it to an elderly American couple for approval. They endorsed his proposal. Kat smiled and said, “It hasn’t been long enough. He asked me just yesterday.” On the RER to CDG, she said no again, but agreed to give up her lease when they got home.

 After they’d been together for exactly a year, Grant made dinner on a
Saturday while Kat was working. When she got home, he drew a warm
bath for her and lathered her up and wrapped her in an oversized
towel. He said he wanted to work up an appetite.
 The white box was sitting next to Kat’s spoon. She used her fork to
secure her steak, cutting small pieces from it. She sipped red wine
while he drank still water. No comment on the ring. She cleared the
table, washed the dishes. Grant slipped behind her. She said, “No
wedding.”

 When Grant first proposed, Kat was sweaty, her dark hair disheveled in ringlets around her shoulders after dancing to salsas and bent back tangos. Laughing, they stumbled to her place. She fetched sparkling water. He pulled out the velvet ring box from his pocket and set it in the middle of Kat’s bamboo coffee table.

 She placed glasses on either side of the box as if it weren’t there. As if it had always been there. She stroked his broad shoulders and said, “You don’t know me well enough.” He said, “That’s my problem to solve. And what better way.”