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Autumn, Not Winter “You’ve reached the autumn of Sydney’s discontent,” Weiss’ deep voice boomed like a television announcer’s. “Leave a message after the beep.” Sydney hit stop. “It's winter, not--” “Think outside the box.” For a smart girl, Sydney could be dense sometimes. “Autumn can be nice.” Ever the covert operative, she reached for his wine and stole a taste. “Bare trees and dead leaves are nice?” “No, but eating pumpkin pie in bed with you is.” He grinned,
then rewarded her skepticism with a warm kiss. “Besides, if things
don’t work out between us, I’d change the machine to say ‘winter.’”
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