“You’re not wrong about me,” Jeremy said eventually. “I’m like… I’m like White and Whistler’s Pure English Sauce. I’m not English at all, no matter what it says on the label. I’m an unrefined fake, falsely labeled. Chloe deserves…” He swallowed. He wasn’t quite sure how to extend the metaphor. “She deserves… Something that’s not British sauce. Something like this, whatever she names it.”
