After the nightmare in Alcatraz, the team finally got their “reward”: a week-long tropical cruise, zero zombies guaranteed. Probably.

Chris and Leon were deep into their fifth round of cards and their third round of drinks, laughing way too hard for two guys who’ve seen the end of the world multiple times.

“Just propose already,” Chris muttered behind his cards. Leon nearly choked on his beer. “Will you stop saying that out loud?” Chris grinned. “Dude, we all know. Claire helped you pick the ring. Rebecca made a spreadsheet. Jill’s got the backup fireworks.”

Across the deck, the girls were lounging by the pool, trying—and failing—not to glance over at you every five minutes. You were stretched out next to Leon’s chair, sunglasses sliding down your nose, cheeks flushed from the sun and your third fruity cocktail.

Jill leaned in to whisper, “She has no idea, does she?” Claire snorted. “Not a clue. This is going to be so good.”

Leon gave you a quick glance. You were giggling at your drink like it had just told you a dirty joke. His heart did that annoying stutter-flip again.

Chris leaned closer. “Nervous?” Leon nodded, dead serious. “I’ve fought mutant lion, Chris. Lion. This is worse.” Chris patted his shoulder. “If she says no, I call dibs on the champagne.”

Tonight was the night. The ring was ready, the stars were aligning, and the entire crew had bets on whether he’d trip over his words. No pressure.