“I’d love to help, but, you know…” He shrugged his shoulder and pointed at the arm he broke seven years before.
“What’s that word for people who think they’re better than you?” he asked while sipping his half-caf, soy latte con panna with sugar free caramel drizzle. “You know, like baristas.”
He rambled on and on until she interrupted. “Do you know what goes good with this?” She lifted her fork to eye level.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” she asked.
He pursed his lips and raised one brow. He winked and whispered, “Reckless.”
“Do you love me?” he asked.
She held her breath. She counted seconds.
“You don’t have to answer.”