"It seems like everything," he smiled. "But I can't get stinkeroo. I'm supposed to be the guest of honor."
Laura laughed lightly, and led him to the bar where she prescribed a healthy drink. Guy downed it, gulped, and wiped tears from his eyes. "Whoooooo!" he squealed, hugging his midsection.
"Sissy," giggled Laura.
"Feels like a MacMillian going off down there. Is there a fire extinguisher in the place?"
They both laughed. Then Laura led the way to the opened French doors and out into the fragrant garden. It was warm and pleasant there, and with one thought they went to the far, darker end of the garden and sat down.
"Did you think of me?" asked Laura.
"Always," lied Maynard. Then he said truthfully: "I've been working toward this moment for a long time. You wanted a set of patrol marshal's nebulae. You may have mine, now."
Laura took the box, and looked at the starred nebulae of the sector marshal.
"I shouldn't do this," she teased.
It rubbed Maynard the wrong way, that teasing. He knew it was just coquetry, but still it went against the grain. It was probably because he knew what was in her mind.