Page 89 of A Taste of Vanilla
She slaps both palms onto the counter and leans over it. “Tell me everything.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No. It was private.”
“You are glowing in a bakery at six in the morning. Nothing about this is private anymore.”
“I’m not glowing.”
“You are. It’s distressing, frankly.”
Marley grabs a stool from one of the tables and drags it to the counter, sitting like she purchased a ticket to my humiliation.
“Start from the beginning.”
I look at her.
She looks back.
I last exactly four seconds.
Then I cover my face with my hands and groan, bending at the waist.
“I took him home.”
Marley screams.
“Marley,” I whine.
“You took him home?”
“Yeah, sorta. I guess, if next door counts.”
“Where were you guys?”
“Oliver’s bar.”
“Did Oliver know?”
I peek at her through my fingers.
“Oh my god. Oliver knew.”
“He didn’t approve.”
“He never does. He doesn’t approve of joy.”
“He gave me water first. Made me drink all of it.”
“Of course he did.”
“And he made the guy promise that if I changed my mind, he had to leave.”
“Okay, that’s actually sweet.”
“It was. Which kind of pissed me off.”
