Jericho laughed, lips dragging across Atticus’s. “I do okay for myself, Freckles, but my name’s not Rockefeller.” Atticus’s mouth went desert dry. “But it could be Mulvaney.” Jericho’s whole body went rigid for a split second, then Jericho peered up at him. “Did…did you just propose to me, Freckles?” Atticus gave a stilted nod. “I think I did, yeah.” “Did you mean it?” Jericho asked, a tension in his tone that matched the sudden panic seizing Atticus’s heart. What if he said no? What if it was too fast, too soon? Jericho had said repeatedly that he’d never let Atticus go, but that was a far
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