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I’d land on my feet, dammit. Or at least my hands and knees.
She laughed, and I decided I wanted to hear the sound again.
“I think you clued in on our compatibility and went with it.” “Marley,” he said. “Manspeak, please.” “Me liked.”
It was Marley. She inspired people to be better. Myself—who was really already as close to perfect as you could get—included. I was going to marry her. Really, I had no choice. Marley Cicero was meant to be mine, and I was meant to be hers. We would hash out the details later.
