“What do you love?” She shakes her head. “Fake boyfriends don’t get to know that.” “So there is something.” “Photography,” she says, flicking her gaze up to mine. “I’m a photographer. If I could do something else, it would be that.” “But—” “But I can’t, okay?” she interrupts. “Don’t. I know my future already.” “Which is what?” “The diner.” “You could sell it. You’re majoring in business. You can do whatever you want.” She laughs shortly. “Did I ask for your advice?” I let her hand drop. “No.” “Let’s just have dinner, okay?”
