Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(92)

“Stars, Bo,” she murmured. “The last time I was in Los Angeles, I spent my days pining away for San Francisco instead of attending class. You think I’d really want to go through that again?”

One day, three autumns. All she had to do was look at her wristwatch and she remembered it all.

“No?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving. I signed a new three-year contract here in San Francisco. So you’re stuck with me.”

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut and pulled her against him, sighing into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his back. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Very sure,” she said. “I’m not dragging my beautiful babies across the state, and I’m not leaving you here. I can’t sleep when you’re not in the bed.”

“Me, either,” he admitted. “The shipbuilder made fun of me. He said I’ve either been married too long or not long enough.”

“Ten years.” He felt warm and solid beneath her arms, and his thumping heart picked up speed when her hands skimmed a path down his back.

“Ten years tomorrow.” His nose grazed her ear as he placed one warm, lingering kiss on her neck. “But if you can’t wait, we can start the celebration a little early.”

“Here?”

“The shop’s bathroom has a lock on the door.” He lifted his head to glance out the front window. “The marching band’s still playing. That means Gum Lung is at least ten minutes away.”

Gum Lung: the Golden Dragon, star of the parade. It took a hundred men and women to move the big festive dragon down Grant.

“Ten minutes?” she complained.

“Fifteen, if we’re lucky,” he whispered, kissing her neck with more fervor and sending a waterfall of goose bumps over her skin. He followed their path with his mouth until it met hers.

“Gung Hay, Fat Choy,” Astrid murmured the popular Lunar New Year phrase against Bo’s lips. Congratulations and be prosperous. Good luck.

“I don’t need luck,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “I already have you.”