“I’d like to try the shellfish lasagna. Stick as close to my Italian roots as I can get, you know?” Elena says suddenly, sliding the menu across the table. “And I’d love a Diet Coke.” Gwen studies Elena, raising an eyebrow. She doesn’t touch the menu, then swings her gaze back to me, as if waiting for approval. Elena stiffens, her shoulders brushing my arm. “I don’t need Kallum’s permission to order food.” The waitress’s eyes flash with a dull amusement at the use of my full name. “I’m just not sure you know how bad of a cook Vinny is—” “I’ll be the judge of that.” Elena turns her chin up,
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