“We’re off for a whole week,” I’d said stretching, voice full of morning gravel. “What’s the plan? And I swear, if you say watch the sunrise on the beach—” Clint had cut my threat short by rolling on top of me, kissing me silly. “You’re going to marry me.” His hair was sleep-disheveled, his eyes sunnier than the golden light blasting through the blinds. “No,” I’d said, trying to keep a straight face. “It wasn’t a question, sweetheart.”
