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"It sounds like your specialty."

He laughs. "It's… edible."

"High praise."

"I mostly do takeout."

"But you…" My eyes go to his bare torso. "You're super cut."

"And?"

"You don't get that cut eating mac and cheese."

He laughs. "I can cook chicken breast and broccoli too."

"Do you think… can I cook tonight if we come back here?"

"Sunshine, if we come back here I'm not gonna give you time to breathe much less cook."

The second I slide into my car, the wall between now and later falls.

The test is the only thing on my mind.

I turn the key, press the brake pedal, bring the car into reverse. Try to focus all my attention on pulling out of this space.

Parallel parking is the worst.

No. I can't sell that to myself. Life changing tests are a hell of a lot worse than parallel parking. Especially when they're supposed to be normal and routine.

We need to do a scan every year for five years. Just in case your cancer is back. No biggie.

I guess it's no biggie for an oncologist. They eat, breathe, sleep cancer. As awful as that is.

"What did you do about your appointments?" I pull onto tenth. Head toward the freeway.

"Rescheduled them."

"You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did."

"What did you tell your clients?"

"That I was fucking my apprentice and we needed to work some shit out or we'd be too distracted."

My cheeks flush. He's kidding, but, God, the thought of our eleven o'clock staring at us dumbstruck, whispering so is she as kinky as she looks or what?

He is kidding.

Right?

He looks to me with a laugh. "You're so fucking cute when you blush."

"I am not."

"Yeah, you are." He takes my free hand. Intertwines my fingers with his. "I'm gonna have to keep saying stupid shit."

"Do you ever stop?"

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