“I don’t know,” I shrug, trying not to laugh. “There’s the tiny portion, the leaf stuck on top like some umbrella or a weird spot of sauce. And of course, they give it some fancy French name like La Roshe Le Blanc La James or something.”
He bursts out laughing again, clutching his stomach with tears forming at the corners of his eyes. I can’t help but laugh along with him, trying to hide it behind my drink before sneaking a glance around to make sure we’re not bothering anyone.
When he finally stops, takes a deep breath, and wipes the tears from his face, he leans back. “Allison… I thought you were supposed to be posh.”
I roll my eyes. “I used to be posh… back before my mum tried turning me into some kind of doll. Worst part? She’d drag me to her fancy women’s club. They’d just sit arou
