Zed gave me a flat look. “What’s wrong with coconut?”
“Everything,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “This is not a meal. This is… I don’t know, a t****k aesthetic moment at best.”
One of the men chuckled, split a coconut in half with a clean strike, and held it out toward me. The milk sloshed inside, the scent of fresh coconut hitting me in the face.
I backed up a step. “You want me to drink that? From that?”
Zed’s brows furrowed like he couldn’t believe my question. “It’s fresh. Better than anything you drink in the city.”
“Better than a caramel macchiato with oat milk and two pumps of vanilla?” I shot back.
His expression stayed annoyingly calm. “Yes.”
I groaned dramatically, but after a moment, I reached for the coconut. My fingers got wet from the shell, and I almost dropped it. “Ugh
