“If you hate the idea so much, then go back to your fancy office. No one asked you to come here. Actually, wait. Why are you here?” “I—” He pauses. “I don’t know.” His brows draw together. Whatever is happening in his brain shuts him up. Both of us remain silent while waiting in line, with both of us lost in our thoughts. Why is he really here, and why does it make me giddy to know he decided to wait in line with me despite hating the idea?
