It’s nice to finally meet you. Nathan speaks very highly.” She winks, and I don’t know what that’s supposed to imply, but I don’t question it. “He does?” I ask. “Oh, here and there,” she says. While he packs groceries into the refrigerator, Nathan’s dad says, “And every night at dinner, and before he goes to bed, and at breakfast.” I turn to Nathan, who’s currently seated at the counter with his face buried in his hands, and God he’s so cute right now. “I do not talk about him 24/7!” he argues. “He’s right.” Mr. Allan folds up the leftover plastic bags and slips them into a small container
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