“What’s wrong?” Kallum asked, and I realized I was visibly pouting at the menu. I made an effort to be mature about becoming the world’s pickiest eater. “I think I’m not that hungry, actually. I’m just going to have some ice water. But you should get whatever you want.” “Winnie,” he said, with the gravity of a brain surgeon. “What sounds good to you?” “Really, I just—” “Not on the menu,” he clarified. “Like at all. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?” His tone was very firm for Kallum: less cinnamon roll and more I’ll keep you bent over my lap until you’re a good girl. And
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