HAZEL
I let it slip.
“Yours is worse than mine,” I said, picking at a piece of bread. “But mine is just as horrible because it’s two months to my wedding and I’m still screwing my side pieces.”
Cecily dropped her napkin dramatically. “I beg your entire pardon? Girl, what?”
I winced, slightly regretting that I’d overshared. “Forget I said anything.”
“You said pieces, plural. Who, Hazel? Don’t make me pry it out of you,” she scooted closer, eyes wide with curiosity.
“I’m not telling you,” I looked away from her, focusing on the waiter that was walking back with our meal.
“You’re evil,” she whined.
I laughed, “And you’re nosy, Cece.”
The waiter served us and then we bantered back and forth for a bit until she stiffened slightly and leaned in like she had yet another secret to divu
