“Poppy,” he says pointedly, “I remember everything.” I narrow my eyes at him. “But you said—” He sighs. “I know what I said. But I’m telling you now, I remember it all.” “Some would say that makes you a liar.” “No,” he says, “what it makes me is someone who was embarrassed to still remember exactly what you were wearing the first time I saw you, and what you ordered once at McDonald’s in Tennessee, and who needed to preserve some small measure of dignity.”
