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He huffs a laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” I grin into my pillow. “Help yourself to some coffee.” “Already made some,” he says, voice still rough at the edges. “I’m taking a cup.” “That’s fine.” “It’s my souvenir glass.” I snicker into my pillow. “Bring it to the shop later and I’ll etch it for you. ‘Nova Porter rocked my world.’ ”
“Stop making that face,” I snap. “We’ve been over this, Nova girl. This is just how my face looks.” “Well, it’s a dumb face,” I grumble.