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Brittany glanced over her shoulder.

“It’s French.”

“I don’t think the French intended us to taste it.”

The cashier covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.

Brittany rolled her eyes and turned back toward her phone.

Then she swept her enormous blonde hair over her shoulder.

Unfortunately, it landed directly across my face.

“Careful, sweetheart,” I said. “Your hair just hit me.”

“Then don’t stand so close.”

“I’m standing in line.”