Chapter SevenKeaton
I cringe as Slate dumps the contents of yet another sugar packet into his coffee.
“Explain something to me,” I say, speaking mid-chew through my breakfast burrito bursting with chorizo, cheese, and salsa.
It’s been a week since I’ve seen him, so a reunion at our favorite brunch spot was the most natural plan. Our food has just arrived, and Slate is fixing his coffee the way he likes it—one third coffee, one third milk, one third sugar packets. I think we’re on raw sugar number six now?
“How have you not died yet from a sugar overdose with how you take your coffee?”
“I like what I like, and my body respects that. We’re totally in sync.” He places a hand on his chest. My gaze lingers on the way his large hand looks pressed in earnest against his heart.
“How nice for
