token

"It's just a token of my love," he said. He took her right hand in his left and gave it a small squeeze, gently turning it over. He removed his left hand from hers and pulled his right hand from the pocket of his jacket. He placed a box in her open palm.

A ring box!

This is it, she thought, smiling up at him.

"Oh, George!" she said, moving over to kiss him.

He smiled, accepting the kiss rather than participating in it. She looked at him, curiously.

"It's just a token," he repeated.

Suddenly, worried she had leapt to a conclusion and that she was about to look foolish, she felt warm blood rush to her face. She remembered a day in the school yard when she had wet herself and Mary Anne Plavin had spotted it and danced around her, pointing, singing out "pissy knickers", until the whole yard was chanting the same two words over and over and over. She coloured further.

"Open it," he said. Avoiding his eye she concentrated on the box. She took a deep breath, and lifted the lid.

…

As usual I started with the freewrite prompt and used themostdangerouswritingapp.com to write the first five minutes (and then popped it into google docs to check for errors and tidy it up a bit):

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