Cellie's POV
"No."
"Oh come on," I said, pressing both palms flat on the kitchen island. "It's a birthday party, Demetrio. A harmless birthday party for a woman who has postponed it twice already."
"No." He said it the same way the second time as the first, with the particular finality of a man who had made a decision and considered the conversation complete.
I had not considered the conversation complete.
We had been at this for ten minutes, standing on opposite sides of his kitchen island with the salad dressing between us like neutral territory, glaring at each other with the specific energy of two people who had spent four very good days not fighting and were now making up for lost time.
