What shall we say when people ask us how we met?”The corners of her mouth twitched. “We’ll say I was in my nightrail, brushing my hair in peaceful solitude, when you climbed up to my balcony and—”“Do you even have a balcony?”She pursed her lips. “You’re not invited upon it, regardless.”He gave her a slow, naughty smile. “No one’s ever *invited* to scale a balcony.

-Erica Ridley

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