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The dog on my lap barks at the outburst.

“I don’t have to snoop on your phone to know your little fantasies.”

I don’t even like cinnamon rolls, but I snatch the half-eaten one out of the Grey Dove Bakery box and eat it in two bites. A show of dominance.

“We’ll tell people we met at a party,” Dani decides.

“Which party?” I counter.

“I don’t know,Graham—any random party. Don’t you have friends who throw parties? It can be at one of them.”

I don’t have friends, and the only parties I attend are thrown by family members.

She can’t know that, though. It still stings.

I’m a loner.As a public service, I think savagely.

“What about a party thrown byyourfriends?”

“They would have seen you there.” Dani’s dismissive. “What is it you do for a living? I’d call you a nepo baby, but you’re a little too hot for that.”

“Just tell people I saw you walking on the street and asked you out.”

“No one’s going to believe that.” She gives a hollow laugh.

“Well, yes, they will—that’s how people used to meet before dating apps and whatnot.”

Dani makes a face. She doesn’t look at me as she reaches for another pastry.

“What? Why are you making this so difficult?” I demand.

“Look…” She lets out a breath. “Guys who look like you don’t just see a woman who looks like me on the street,” she says in a rush, “and want to ask her out.”

“I don’t understand.” I frown.

“I mean, it’s not like I’d get cast to play Juliet in the school play.” She grabs my drink and downs the rest of it. “I’m just saying.”

I stare at her.

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is, Graham, and you keep thinking that by calling me ugly and a loser and gross you’re really going to crater my self-esteem and make me take the payout, but you won’t. You should try taking lessons from my mother. Now there’s a woman who’s a master class in making me feel like crap.”

We sit there in silence for a moment.

“Anyway,” she says to the glass, “let’s just tell people it was a weird sex-club thing, m’kay?”

There’s another long pause.

“I saw you walking on the street and I wanted you,” I remind her quietly.

The ice clinks in the empty glass. I take it from her and go get her a refill.

“I need a photo—my mom’s been nagging me for them,” she says when I hand it to her wordlessly. “Lulu, do you want to be in it?”

She fusses, trying to get a picture.

I don’t smile, though I sort of want to at all the weird faces she’s making.