He’s still smoothing back her hair with one hand, running the other down along her jawline, dropping it to her shoulder, teaching himself her shape. She’s still holding tight to the front of his suit. “I don’t drink coffee,” she says, breathless. “You can drink anything you like,” he murmurs. “Just name it, I’ll find it for you.” “You said coffee,” she replies, smiling. “Or dinner. I don’t drink coffee, so it’ll have to be dinner.” He laughs again and wraps his arms around her, hugging her until she squeaks. She wriggles her arms free to wrap them around his neck. And though she’s an orphan
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