“I figured we could eat the pizza here,” he says carefully, eyes flicking toward me and away again. He’s acting like he’s just presented me with a pipe bomb, not a…poorly constructed fort in the middle of his living room. He nods toward the mess of cushions and haphazardly thrown blankets. Now I know what he was doing with his seven minutes. He was collecting every spare blanket and a beach towel—if the blue sea turtles are any indication—to create a makeshift tent. “Like a picnic,” I breathe. I look up at him and grin. “You remember what I said.”
