“I don’t mean I want a lifemark or something,” Folly says quickly. “I mean, I’d at least want to try this for a year before trapping you with me forever. But tomorrow…” Yarrow adjusts the flower in Folly’s hair, then caresses his cheek. “Tomorrow is too soon.” Folly nods against Yarrow’s palm. His lashes lower. “We keep saying we’ll figure it out later, but we’re running out of later.”
