“Please. I caught you staring at your dressing room mirror yesterday, smiling to yourself while ‘Enchanted’ was blasting.” “I was just happy for Taylor’s version,” I mumble. “Uh-huh.” She rolls her eyes as she stirs her creamer into her paper cup. “Sure you were. I happen to know for a fact that you’re a 1989 stan.” “Taylor is Taylor,” I hmph.
