Page 82 of On Dry Land

“She’s a cat, Spencer. All she needs is food and water, and Oliver can figure out how to scoop poop from a box.” He snorts, laughing.

“Yeah, but he needs to remember to hold her cradled like a baby and tuck her into her favorite blanket every morning before he leaves. I need to remind him about her hot-water bottle.” I roll my eyes above his head. Spoiled. That cat is spoiled rotten.

“We’ll tell him.”

“I’m really excited. I wish it was tomorrow and time to go,” he admits.

I tighten my arm, tilting my face just enough to the side that his short hair tickles my cheek. He smells like me, which means he used my shower products this morning. It’s a habit I’m rather fond of, the same way I enjoy it when my clothes are what he leaves the closet wearing instead of his own. Several articles of clothing that made it into his suitcase weren’t technically his, but I didn’t say anything, feeling oddly sentimental about him choosing to bring comfort items of mine along on vacation.

“I’m looking forward to watching you swim in a new pool.”

Spencer laughs, leaning away from me far enough to turn his face and look at me. He’s quite lovely in direct sunlight—hair a richer shade of brown, and those stunning eyes shot through with gold. I can’t wait to enjoy the same view on a Grecian beach.

“Think of all the food, too.” He groans. “Come on, let’s ditch the wedding and go now. I bet we can change our flight.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I warn, making him chuckle. “We’re flying first class, though, so I doubt they’d have an earlier flight available anyway.”

“Dry.” Spencer shakes his head, exasperated.

“I’m not sitting in economy.”

“Snob.”

“Yes,” I agree. “And comfortably so, in first class, where there is adequate leg room.”

This earns me a deeper laugh, open-mouthed and happy. I’m smiling when he meets my eye once more. It’s hard to worry overmuch about the perils of marriage and my friends entering into legally binding contracts when he looks at me like this. Miraculous as it is, it’s a look filled with love. It’s becoming easier to feel as though I deserve it and to believe I won’t lose it.

“Thank you for being here,” I murmur. He stops smiling, Spencer’s face losing the humor and eyes becoming warm and serious.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but notice the words sound like a vow.