I eye her bowl. “Nicole. You miss the meat, don’t you?” She laughs loudly. “Oh yeah, I do miss the meat. And yes, I walked right into that one. But that right there is one reason. You’re easygoing. You’re charming. You’re kind. You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re ridiculously handsome.” “Oh really? Ridiculously?” “Insanely good-looking.” “Do continue.” “You’re amazingly gorgeous. You’re out-of-this-world beautiful.” I’m not often called beautiful. It’s a word reserved more for women or works of art. Oddly enough, I don’t mind it. Maybe because it came with a litany of praise, or perhaps it’s
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