“Now can you tell me what we’re doing?” I asked. “You are going to sit there looking adorable,” he said, pulling a plastic-wrapped ball of dough off a shelf and pressing on it with his knuckle. Whatever he saw made him sigh, but he still set the dough on the counter. “And then I’m going to make you dinner.” “Oh, Kallum, you don’t have to—” “I want to,” he said firmly. The look he gave me was somewhere between Bossy Kallum and the Kallum who gave me his coat on the ski lift. “You need dinner. And I want to see you eating my food. The worst part about being on set is never having time in the
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