Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It's not that I want you
Not to say but if you only knew
How easy, it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn't have to say
th...
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ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʙʀɪᴛɪꜱʜ?
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ɪ ᴀᴍ ʙʀɪᴛɪꜱʜ
✤
Only four hours of sleep in my system. Brilliant, Diane. How lovely to mess up your sleep schedule even more than it already is.
Since I have to wait for Roger to hand in my résumé—and hopefully, they'll want me working for them — I'm not just going to sit around like a lemon all day doing nothing.
I got up and opened the fridge, thinking I really needed to stop spending money on breakfast and actually make something myself. You know, be a proper adult for once.
Inside: nothing.
Well, technically something—a half-empty bottle of wine, two apples, and cheese. Cheese. What on earth am I supposed to do with cheese?! Bloody marvelous. Right, grocery shopping it is.
So now I have a purpose for today! I got ready, grabbed an apple—got to eat something, haven't I? — and decided the only thing I was allowing myself to buy was coffee. Because after last night, caffeine wasn't a luxury—it was survival.
"You look drained," Gunther said while cutting a slice of pie in half.
I froze mid-step. "And good morning to you too, White Head."
"Why is my hair such a constant source of comedy for you?" he sighed.
I shrugged and smiled innocently. "Because it's funny, mate."
"What can I get you, Brit?"
"Oof, not sure about that nickname" I teased. "I prefer foreign. And an espresso to go, please."
Gunther turned to make the espresso.
"Hey, you!"
I turned and there was Rachel, wearing a dark green apron and holding a rag.
