“You know you wear orange on Tuesdays?” I blink at him, confused by the sudden change of subject. “What?” “You wear orange,” he says again. “On Tuesdays. Sometimes it’s just a scarf in your hair; other times it’s your dress or your shoes or your apron. Once you wore a bright orange T-shirt and these little orange shorts that I swear took two to seven years off my life.” He blows out a deep, gusting breath and scrubs his hand against the back of his head. “And you drink chamomile tea in the afternoons. You get a line, right here,” he says, dragging the tip of his finger at the corner of my
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