Luke didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until she agreed to his proposal. Which wasn't really a proposal, he supposed, so much as a desperate desire to be left with something before she left. Lukewarm as he was about marrying her, and as much as Reagan seemed to dislike him -- or at least the idea of him -- Luke had never found his future wife unattractive. How could he? She was clever and strong-willed and talented, in addition to being the best-dressed person in any room she entered. If the circumstances had been different, if she hadn't been denied the ability to choose him, maybe she'd like him better.
But that wasn't what they had, so they might as well make the best of it. He leaned gently against her, bumping her shoulder with his and releasing her hand. "When you want," he offered. And then, looking ahead of them, added, "That mimosa tree should still have a bloom or two. Want to sit there?"