He twisted his chair to face me. “Promise?”
Our knees now wove together. My beige pants. His dark jeans. They looked like piano keys.
I trailed a finger across the colors. “No. At least I hope not. I think I’d like to savor the next six months, if you don’t mind—each and every moment with you.”
He looped one hand around the back of my neck and pulled me close. He tasted like Chapstick and bubble gum. He pulled a breath away. “Starting now.” Then he kissed me again.
There was faint clapping and a whispered wolf whistle nearby.
“Benson,” I whispered against his lips.
“Benson,” he whispered against mine.
We ignored Benson.
... The wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.
—JANEAUSTEN,EMMA
