I dip a carrot in ranch and use it to paint her cheek buttermilk white. Jules gasps. Then she fishes out a halved cherry tomato from her salad and wedges it onto my nose. “So there, Rudolph!” she crows. “Juliet!” I screech. “I hate tomatoes!” We’re on the verge of a full-on food fight when our apartment’s buzzer cuts through the air.
