“You are comically distressed about the pineapple pizza.” “Because it’s embarrassing.” “It’s not.” Her smile spreads wider. “It’s adorable.” “Please stop calling me adorable.” “Cute,” she adds. I groan and collapse back to my side of the bench seat. She shuffles closer and rests her chin against my shoulder. “You’re still crushing on me.” I look at her out of the corner of my eye. “Obviously.”
