“You wouldn’t need a ticket, Gigi. I’m not suggesting you go stand in line for an autograph. You’d come as my guest. Bring Eden.” I cover his mouth. “Careful what you offer. She kept it surprisingly bottled up last night. If you invite her today, she might show up wearing a shirt with your face on it. Or even worse: a shirt with your torso on it.” “It’s all fine,” he says, “as long as she’s aware the dimples are taken.” I cup his face, kissing each cheek. “Gigi’s bottom lip approves.”
