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You looked dead," I tell him, moving closer.
He grumbles something.
"What?" I ask.
"I said I wish," he mumbles.
I eye the bottle or coconut rum on the table and the empty mug beside it. "Rough Day?"
I'd been caught off guard by the Bridget Jones incident three weeks ago, but now it's almost a relief to see him looking how I've spent the last month and a half feeling.
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