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He stares, unimpressed. “And our work is . . .” “You know. This and that.” I shrug, hoping he’ll assume we DoorDash for a living and leave it at that.
An impatient sigh interrupts me, and he crowds me even more against the cushions, which presses him close enough to me that . . . Oh my God. Is that a stake in his pocket, or is he just glad to see me?
“I didn’t know that an apple murdered your family.”