“You had a dead mosquito on your chin,” he explains. And they say romance is dead. Clearly, they haven’t met my husband. My shoulders fall and I give him a sad sort of smirk before drifting my gaze back to the fire. “Sounds about right.” He laughs weakly. “Sorry…I ruined the moment, didn’t I?” “A little,” I say, matching his weary grin. “But that’s okay. I’d rather be bug-free.” “You’re beautiful, baby. Dead bugs and all.”
