Something is rotten in Denmark.
I continue scrolling through the pages until I see a f*******: page that has me hovering over the link. Call it woman’s intuition, but I click on it and try not to holler in smugness when I see a profile picture of Roman carrying a Golden Retriever like a baby. Both look beyond elated.
I’m disappointed when the profile is private. How can I carry on snooping now?
All I can see apart from his photo is that he grew up in Buffalo, New York, and that holy s**t, his birthday is in two weeks. He’s turning thirty.
I get lost in those eyes, wondering what secrets he holds, like who took this picture. He looks happy, genuinely happy. It’s a side I haven’t seen since I met him. Not that I can blame him.
“You know…” The moment I hear those words, I want to thump m
