I pushed open the door of the bridal shop and walked out.
Barret chased after me and grabbed my wrist.
He pressed a credit card into my hand.
"Go buy that handbag you've been eyeing."
"Isn't that what women always say? A new bag cures everything? There—feel better now?"
His voice dripped with exasperation, like he was dealing with a child mid-tantrum.
He was certain this was just me throwing a fit, trying to force him to coax me back.
I shook his hand off.
And tossed the card straight into the trash.
Barret's face darkened.
"Maggie, enough!" he snapped. "There's a limit to how far you can push this!"
"Queenie just got back from overseas. She doesn't know how anything works here yet."
"So I ordered her a few meals—so what?"
"Back in college, I used to get her food from the dining hall every single day. You already knew that!"
A sharp sting pierced through my chest.
He was right. All four years of college, he'd brought Queenie Fox her meals every single day.
Even in a blizzard, he'd trudge through the snow with her favorite sweet-and-sour ribs tucked inside his coat, all the way to the girls' dormitory.
And me?
I'd cooked for Barret for four years.