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“Luke. That’s terrible.” And sweet at the same time.
“It is what it is. Time for me to stop second-guessing what this is and embrace it.”
“So”—I run my hand across his scruffy beard—“do you want me to sing you the ‘Happy Birthday’ song?”
“Tomorrow. With cake.”
“You got it.”
Luke leans in and kisses me softly. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”
“Yes, please.”
