The next morning, Verity surprisingly rose early to pick up food from a nearby restaurant. Just as I was about to unwrap the bag of seafood, she coldly slapped my hand away and remarked, “Don’t you like seafood? The shrimp are the ones I specially bought for you.”
I was taken aback, quickly realizing that the seafood she referred to was intended for Colton. Unable to contain my disbelief, I asked her, “After seven years of dating, don’t you know I’m allergic to shrimp?”
Verity's cheeks flushed as she stood up abruptly.
With a hint of sarcasm, she said, “Fine. It's my fault. A grown man really should stop being so picky and making a fuss over nothing,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Honestly, it’s your choice, eat or don’t eat. I couldn’t care less!”
As Verity turned to leave, I dashed into the room and pulled out a bag, presenting it to her.
“When you see Colton later, please return this to him?” I asked, my voice steady.