“Sophie doesn’t like me,” he interjects. My head swivels. “We’re talking about the same Sophie, right?” He rolls his eyes. “Sophie may think she likes me, but it’s the idea of me that she likes. The possibility of what I could do for her. What being attached to a family like mine would mean for hers.” “I see.” My shoes crunch over some dead leaves piled onto the sidewalk. Of course, it’s the idea of him that she likes. She’d probably run screaming in the opposite direction if she knew what he was really like.
Quick as a whip, that one.
