The morning sun streams through the curtains, warming the cabin with its golden light. The sound of waves lapping against the ship creates a serene backdrop as I stretch in bed, feeling the softness of the sheets beneath me. Jack is already up, standing by the window with a mug of coffee in his hand, his silhouette outlined against the glowing horizon.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he says, turning to me with a mischievous grin.
"Good morning," I reply, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. "You’re unusually chipper today. What’s the occasion?"
He places his coffee on the small table by the window and strides over, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I’ve been thinking," he begins, his tone playful yet determined. "We never really settled our last miniature golf match."
I raise an eyebrow, alread
