Zara
An hour later, we're sitting on sofa bed cushions on my floor, surrounded by cartons of Chinese takeaway. This has happened because Locke took one look inside my fridge, discovered a bagged salad and a bottle of white wine, and apparently decided immediate intervention was required.
"You're not eating lettuce for dinner,” he said as he scrolled through the menu on his phone. “And I’m sure as hell not.”
"It has nutritional value."
"It has sadness.” He paid for the food, and stared at me. “It’s a cry for help dressed in wilted green."
The ridiculousness of the conversation comes back to me now as I shovel dumplings into my mouth, and try to stop Locke from stealing the last spring roll, and before I realize what's happening, I'm smiling.
Like, really smiling. Not forcing it, and n
