ile.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Apology accepted, and I’m pleased to inform you I
ha一ven’t decided to become a vegetarian since we last ate.”
“Since that was the last time you ate, I think that’s a
moot point.”
“There’s that word again, moot.”
“Moot,” he mouths and his eyes soften with humor. He
runs his hand through his hair, and he’s serious again.
“Ana, the last time we spoke, you left me. I’m a little
nervous. I’ve told you I want you back, and you’ve
said . . . nothing.” His gaze is intense and expectant while
his candor is totally disarming. What the hell do I say to this?