“—but I don’t like my shitty thing being the last shitty thing that happened. So, here.” She held the basket out. “Guilt cheese.” “Is that an American idiom?” “No, there’s really cheese in there.” She shook the handle until he grasped it. “Plus sausage rolls, apples, and some grapes.” “No wine?” He opened the hamper, saw a napkin with the pub’s logo. “Not much of an apology.” She shrugged. “I don’t like you that much.”
Need them again
