My fingers press steadily against the small of Sunny’s back as I guide her to a table with a perfect view of the steel pan players. I could have gotten a string quartet, but the steel pans felt more authentic to the Caribbean.
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“Yes.” She leans back, her eyes bright and her smile wide and beautiful. “I’ll marry you, Darrel.”
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“Sunny,” Anita shakes my shoulders and my eyes burst open, “I think you have some visitors.”
“What?” I spin.
And then I gasp.
And then I start to cry.
Because, on the beaches bordered by the Caribbean Sea, my little family is running to me.
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I fell for her without really understanding what love is.
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“You’re always calling them and snapping pictures of the view for them. Everybody calls them your imaginary friends because we never see them, but they’re always with you.”
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I have her.
She’s mine.
It’s different. It’s more.
Because I love her.
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But when I am done with you, Sunny, you won’t have a choice but to say yes.