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“I didn’t fall.” He omitted a sharp, irritated huff. “You fucking tripped me.”
For the first time in years, I experienced a moment of true happiness. It revolted and alarmed me.
Someone sent their steak tartare back. They want it cooked.” “Tartare means raw. Fixing stupid is above my pay grade.” “Respectfully, your pay grade is too generous for anything short of curing cancer.”
“Chef over here needs you to remove the stick from his ass. Oh, and while you’re here, mind stitching my forehead?”
“I’m sorry. I wish I were in your dreams, not nightmares.” “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you star in both.” He pushed a hand into his hair. “My dreams. My nightmares. My fantasies. The only place you weren’t in was the place I wanted you to be most.” “And where was that?” “My reality.”
