He said I deserved a night off from running the household.

He reached into the pocket of his tailored suit jacket.

The black velvet box sat exactly in the center of the white linen tablecloth.

Our waiter set down a plate of roasted artichokes and poured sparkling water into my glass.

He adjusted the small silver candle holder and stepped back into the loud, crowded dining room of the Italian restaurant on Larimer Street.

Daniel picked up the velvet box and pushed it across the table toward my bread plate.