“She has brown eyes that turn golden when the sun hits them, and—” “Oh, honeybaby.” He stops me. “What?” I ask. “You’re already on the hook,” Max warns. I sit back and fight my impulse to be defensive. I don’t feel on the hook yet, but the whole thing is intriguing. And sure, I have imagined our wedding and life together. But that doesn’t mean I am on the hook.
