Moments later, the entrées appear. A glass of orange juice is dropped in front of her. “I didn’t order this,” she tells the waiter. “For you,” he says, nodding across the terrace. “From that man who just left.” Sighing, Ash slumps in her seat and grudgingly picks up the glass of juice Nathaniel ordered. “Fuck.”
DIABETIC LOVE LANGUAGE 😭😭😭😭
