“Now wait just a damn minute,”
“Now you wouldn’t promise me a lighthouse and then fail to deliver, would you?” She ran her hands over my shirt and up the sides of my neck, cupping my face in her palms, tilting her head. “I mean, we are on our honeymoon—aren’t we? And who knows what a girl might do if escorted to the top of that beautiful beacon with the waves crashing all around her and the seabirds—”
“Pterodactyls,” I corrected her. “They’re pterodactyls. And they’ll peck your eyes out.”
“Whatever,” she rasped, and brushed my lips with her own. “What are you afraid of? That you’ll catch the Ebola virus? Or maybe smallpox? The 1918 flu?”
“What I’m afraid of,” I lowered her hands gently. “Is that we’re going to lose the light and get stuck here. Like, all night.” I looked at her sternly
