It served as the single warm dish she could obtain without standing by an oven she likely lacked the energy to operate, attempting to create a meal from the emptiness in her cooler.
“Do not stress over it.” I bent down to slide the pouch of money back in her direction. “The bill is already handled.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “I refuse to let you get penalized.”
I possess zero clue why I uttered my next words. Perhaps because fabricating a story seemed less painful than observing her hand me copper pieces.
“It is fine, honestly. I am the owner,” I replied.
Voir la suite sur la page suivante:
