“Actually, I have the morning booked off.” “Who approved that?” He practically growls out the word. “My husband.” I smirk. He visibly softens in front of me and rests a hand on the counter, a slow smirk curving his mouth. “Why would he do that?” “Because I asked him to.” I meet his gaze, playfulness evaporating. “I need the morning to speak with my friends.”
