I smiled. “That almost sounds romantic.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he said, grinning.
Dinner was easy at first. He told me about a guy from work whose fiancee wanted a destination wedding in Italy. I laughed. We shared dessert. He reached across the table once and brushed his thumb over my wrist.
“I just think after ten years, I’d like to make it official.”
It felt normal. Safe. That was why I chose that moment.
I set down my fork.
“I don’t want Italy or a ballroom or two hundred guests.”
He looked up. “No?”
I shook my head. “I want something small. Just family. Maybe a backyard, maybe a courthouse. I don’t care. I just think after ten years, I’d like to make it official.”
He put his fork down, leaned back, and gave a short, cold laugh.
