“I appreciate it when it doesn’t involve restaurants with fog machines.”
He laughs. “What do you want for dessert?”
I end up getting the lemon tart again because I’m a man of habit and never actually got to eat it the first time. It’s surprisingly good, but Archie’s Shipwreck Sundae looks like a natural disaster rendered in chocolate and ice cream, with a fondant anchor sticking out of it at an angle that suggests the ship didn’t make it.
“You’ve got chocolate on your nose,” I say.
“It adds character.” He swipes at it and misses entirely. “Did I get it?”
“No.”
“Now?”
“Worse.”
I reach across and wipe it off with my thumb. His skin is warm under my fingertip, and he goes still for half a second, looking up at me with those wide hazel eyes. I’m suddenly very aware of how much I love this ridiculous man in this ridiculous restaurant.
He tilts his head to look up at me. “Getting sentimental, Brennan?”
“Absolutely not. I’m here for the lemon tart.”
“I knew it. Our entire relationship is built on citrus-based dessert.”
“And maple syrup.”
“The two great pillars of romance.”
Archie laughs. Then his eyes light up as he notices the box next to the table.
“Look, a prop box! Oh, I forgot about this. How cool is it?”
I recognize the prop box from last year. It’s still overflowing with plastic swords, eye patches, and assorted pirate paraphernalia that no self-respecting adult should ever interact with.
A year ago, Ezra tried to put a pirate hat on my head, and I resisted with my whole being.
Now, I reach into the box to put on the pirate hat and an eyepatch because I know it will make my boyfriend smile. Archie dives into the box himself, emerging with a hook hand and a bandanna.
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” he says, fixing the bandanna over his hair and brandishing the hook. “Captain Giggles goes on vacation. Tonight, I’m Captain Mansley, scourge of the seven seas.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“We both look ridiculous. That’s the point.” He hooks his plastic hand through my arm. “We match.”
“We do match,” I agree.
“Happy anniversary of the worst revenge plot in recorded history,” he says.
“I’d argue it turned out reasonably well.”
“You broke my ankle.”
“You got a boyfriend out of it.”
“And a research career studying why children find you dressed as a dinosaur so hilarious.”
“Sadly, you have a robust sample size to work with.”
He laughs, and I feel it vibrate against my shoulder.
