Come into the store on date two, and I’ll tell you all the embarrassing stories about baby Jack you want to know.” Pepper laughs, and I’m expecting it to be one of those self-conscious laughs she muffles with her wrist, the kind that ends with, Oh, this isn’t a date. Because it’s not, really. It’s just some pseudo-flirty, post–Twitter war, pre-baking thing I’m not sure how to— “I’ll swap you for the embarrassing dive team ones,” Pepper promises. Annie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ooh, I like her.”
