“He’s a loser,” Cliff repeats, moving back to kneading dough. “Why else would he cheat on you? You’re stunning.” My heart skips as I stammer, “Wh-what?” “That’s not an opinion. That’s a fact. You are. Even when you scowl at me.” Then, slowly, Cliff peers up through hooded eyes, scanning from my lips down to my waist and back up. Goose bumps press into the fabric of my shirt. “You’re stunning. And he’s a bonehead.”
