“Look at that love dove over there,” Gunner says. “Wanting to play matchmaker.” “I don’t want to play matchmaker,” Arlo groans. “I just want a normal vacation, plus”—he looks around, as if to make sure no one else is listening—“as much as I hate to admit it, I hate seeing you like this. Unfortunately, I care about you.” I clutch my heart. “He loves me.” “He does. Look at that. I think he might have heart eyes for you,” Gunner says. “What if . . . what if he’s marrying the wrong person? What if he’s actually in love with me?” I ask, finishing off my whiskey. “Make your move,” Gunner whispers.
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