[ He's watching as she sketches, still listening intently. He nods at light blue, and again at silver — gold wouldn't feel right, for Jill, he thinks. At her assertion that she's not the loud, bright, type, he looks up at Hilda, ready to protest, but it only takes him a second to realize what she means. Jill may be the brightest thing in his life, but she isn't flashy or ostentatious.

He's a little in awe that Hilda understands her so well already.

When she offers the sketchbook he looks at it, eyebrows raising. ]

No. It's perfect. A single snowflake, as unique as her. In silver, with the diamonds. And the light blue.

[ He hesitates for a moment, unsure. ]

You'll really be able to ask without her suspecting anything?