Page 108 of His Eighth Ride

“That’s the definition of a surprise, yes.”

She considered him for a moment, and he watched his playful, vibrant Opal emerge from wherever she’d been keeping her. “All right,” she drawled the way he would when trying to impress her. “Let me get my folder.”

“Oh, it’s folder-wedding stuff?”

Opal walked away without answering him. “Can I see the dress?” he asked.

“No,” she called over her shoulder. “And don’t you dare snoop through my phone.”

Tag saw it sitting over on the other side of the couch, but he didn’t reach for it. Opal returned in only a few seconds anyway, and she had a blue folder in her hand. “That’s your facilities folder,” he said.

“Yes.” She sat on his lap, and he encircled her in his arms. “I want you to help me pick a venue. I have to book one, and I promised them both I’d call by tomorrow.”

“All right,” he drawled.

“And.” She shuffled some pages in the folder, drawing Tag’s attention. “I want your opinion on where you’d like to go for our honeymoon.”

Ah, the honeymoon. “Baby Bear, I told you to pick,” he said gently. They’d already had this conversation—twice, actually. She was funding it, and he felt like she should get to choose where she wanted to go. He’d happily go with, and he liked beaches, mountains, and foreign countries equally, as he didn’t spend a lot of time visiting any of them.

“I’ve narrowed it to three destinations,” she said. She speared him with a sassy-Opal look. “I would like your opinion.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

Satisfied, she looked back at her folder. “Grand Cayman,” she said, holding up a full-color printout of the whitest sand Tag had ever seen. Teal, blue, and deeper blue water. Glorious sunshine.

“Nice,” he said, wanting to board a plane and go right now.

“It’ll be nice to escape the colder weather for the beach in November,” she said. “That’s choice one. Number two.” She exchanged the beach paradise for a picture of what looked like a Swiss village. “Germany,” she said. “They have the cutest little towns and festivals. And we’ll be there sort of during holiday season, and we can go to their Christmas markets.”

“Mm,” he said, liking the other one better. “I don’t have a passport.”

“You have time to get one,” Opal said. “I called and checked. Twelve weeks.”

“Okay.” He gave her a smile. “Third?”

“Okay, hear me out on this.”

“Have I ever not heard you out?”

She gave him a beautiful smile. “No, it’s one of the things I love most about you.” She held up a picture of a cruise ship. “Caribbean cruise,” she said. “All the Saints. Saint Thomas. Saint Martin. Saint Lucia.”

Bright blue skies. Endless food and drinks. Trapped on a ship with Opal for days and days.

“Into….” She whipped out another picture and covered the first one. “A Mediterranean cruise. Spain, Italy, Croatia, Greece.”

“Wow,” he said, truly surprised. “Gerty will approve this much time off?”

“It’ll be a little over three weeks,” Opal said, clearly unconcerned. “With travel and time zones and stuff.”

“How long are these cruises?”

“Eight days, and then twelve days.”

“Wow,” he said again.

“I know wow means no,” Opal said, tucking her papers back into her folder.

“It means I’m processing.” He leaned in and nuzzled her neck. She tipped her head back and let him too, so she wasn’t truly upset. “I want a beach thing,” he murmured against the delicate skin of her neck. “So Grand Cayman or the cruises. That’s my opinion.”

---