Page 115 of A Stealthy Situation

His gorgeous brown eyes turn soft as he looks down on me. “You’re such an asshole.” It doesn’t sound like an insult.

“And you’re such a sweetheart.” That does.

But it works for us. Total opposites. All cinnamon and snark.

We might have some rocky shit coming our way, but if I always love him like I do now, that won’t mean anything.

We’ll make it. Easily.

Because I might not have had to fight for much in my life, but he’s worth fighting for.

EPILOGUE

HARRISON

TEN YEARS LATER

There’s the slap of skin on skin, and I turn to glance at Benny. His whole face is scrunched in disgust as he lifts his hand from his arm and reveals the mosquito he got.

“Cute date,” he deadpans.

I just want to tell him to bear with me. I’ve been saving for this trip for years now, and little does Benny know it’s for a very specific reason. Our dream Australian vacation was less about beaches and fancy bridges and more about fungus.

One specific fungus.

Because Benny is worth it.

“Forests smell.”

“This is the bush, babe.”

“Bush. A bush is what’s between your legs right now.”

I laugh, if only to dispel some of the nerves. “You said you like the retro look.”

“I’m going to say anything to get in your pants.”

Trim the pubes. Got it.

We’ve been walking for an hour now, and I’m starting to get as frustrated as he is. We set out at sunset, and even though I was careful about making sure we stuck to the paths and have the exact mapping and coordinates set out, I didn’t expect us to be walking for this long.

I’m starting to lose hope.

I’ve been researching, and getting firsthand recounts, and narrowed the dates to be the most common for these stupid things, but I’m still coming up empty. What the hell am I supposed to tell Benny if I suddenly decide we’re done and head back frustrated and disappointed? This is less of a romantic night to remember and more the opening to a horror film.

“Are we lost?” he asks.

“No.”

“You look lost.”

“I know exactly where we are.” The problem is, I don’t know where they are. Years of planning have gone into tonight, and if, after spending my whole life being good to plants, they choose not to return the favor, I might just stomp on one.

Okay, I won’t.

But I’ll probably want to.

Might even kick a tree trunk if I’m annoyed enough.

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