“About what?” I focused on drying the plate in my hand, even though it was already dry. “About staying friends.” “Oh. Of course,” she said, starting to wash the same dish again. “Absolutely. Friends.” “Which is why we can’t—shouldn’t—mess around.” “No. Definitely not.” She handed me the plate without looking at me. “It would only confuse things.” “Right,” I said, and I should have been glad that she agreed so easily, but somehow I wasn’t. Had I been expecting, or hoping, that she would argue? “I mean, we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, with the wedding and the holidays and all,” she
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