“Don’t do that,” she huffs, pushing her arms through the sleeves and tugging the shirt down. “Do what, darling?” “That. The flirting.” Her eyes sweep over me accusingly. “The dimples.” I laugh before I’m able to stop myself. “You know, I can’t really help that.” “Help what?” She crosses her arms. “The flirting or the dimples?” “Yes,” I say simply.
