Jordan. “I'm not hungry.”“But you are stubborn,” I said to her, leaning in closer. “You are eating. Choose something, or I will choose for you.”She glared but acquiesced. “Fine. I will have the mushroom ravioli.”“Ravioli it is,” the waiter said, giving me a look and taking our menus.Once the clothes had been paid for, Lucia had dressed in the black backless dress, and we had headed to a small Italian restaurant for dinner.“I can’t show my face at Nordstrom again. You know that, right?” she said annoyed “No one saw your face,” I said, winking, as I picked up a piece of bread and dipped it into a bowl of olive oil.“You make me so mad!”I chewed on the bread. “They have the best olive oil. You know, it’s made from their own olives from their groves in Tuscany.”She took a piece of bread and violently dipped it before biting off a chunk, then sat back and gave me a look. “Did you wash your hands?I laughed so hard I nearly choked, and the patrons at the tables around us turned to
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