“Then we’ve got this, sunshine.” Oddly, this statement makes me feel better. I think it’s the we. We’ve got this. Not just me, all by myself, floundering and fumbling my way through a mistake. Which is how most of my life feels. “Sugar, sweetheart, sunshine—are you really into nicknames?” I ask. “I’m just trying to land on the perfect one for you, darlin’.” We reach the door, and I don’t get a chance to hesitate at the sight of the full room because he steers me forward. “That,” he adds, his lips brushing my ear, “and you haven’t told me your actual name.”
