“You can’t buy a grill online.” Sincerely appalled, he stared at her—with some pity. “You have to see it, and—” “Stroke it?” She offered a bright smile. “Speak to it?” Appalled pity turned on a dime to a cool disdain that made her want to laugh. “You have to see it,” he repeated. She made a humming sound, then went in to check her supplies and formulate a menu. Moments later, he came in, grabbed a beer, sat at the counter. “I’m buying the grill.” “What?” “I said I’m buying the grill.” Sauté some chicken breasts, she thought. Garlic, herbs, wine. Distracted, she turned to him. “The grill?
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