Rafe lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other idly tracing slow crescents along her spine. His nails skimmed lightly through the cotton of her sleep shirt, a whisper of touch that made her sigh and melt deeper into the pillow.

“I think about it all the time,” she said, words muffled by the blanket as she lay on her tummy. “You and me. A little place by the water. Your jacket on the back of a chair. Our names on the mailbox.”

He smiled at the ceiling and let his hand wander—up between her shoulders, down to the small of her back—patient, unhurried. “You’ve got it all planned, huh?”

“I do,” she breathed. “Because I’m in love with you, Rafe. Because when it’s quiet like this, I can feel the rest of my life clicking into place.”

The fan hummed. Somewhere outside, a boat horn lowed across the sound. He listened, like he always did when she talked about forever, and the edges of him softened. His nails traced a gentle line that made her shiver and laugh into the pillow.

“Marry me, then,” he said, almost teasing, almost not.

She turned her face just enough for him to see her smile. “Ask me properly.”

He shifted closer, knuckles brushing her shoulder, breath warm in her hair. “Okay.” He let the word hang there, certain and simple. “Marry me.”