“I have worked up an appetite,” he replied. “But I’m happy just to order pizza. Don’t want you runnin’ around after me. Not after you’ve been working all day.” It made me feel warm, that line. No man I’d been with had ever considered what I’d done with my day prior to their arrival. They certainly didn’t think whatever I’d done—be it opening a bakery or remodeling a house or working a double shift—meant that I wasn’t able to fulfill my duty of serving them. I had terrible taste in men, I realized. “You are not ordering pizza,” I gasped. The smirk returned. I decided I loved the smirk. I
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