Trembling, I squeezed his hand and sagged against his chest. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t even say that,” he whispered, wrapping me up in his arms. “I smell like fish,” I warned him. “You’ll get it on your clothes, too.” “I don’t care,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to my hair. “I love fish, I love you, and I still want to eat you for dinner.”
