By the time morning came, I somehow ended up back in the garden again with Damien. “You know,” Damien said, lounging lazily across from me, “at this point, I’m starting to think this garden belongs to you.” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I just enjoy peace.” “You came to the wrong house for that.” A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. We stayed there longer than I expected, talking about random things. Damien somehow managed to make even the most boring conversation entertaining. One second we were talking about terrible food combinations, the next he was dramatically explaining why rich people secretly enjoyed suffering. “I’m serious,” he said. “Nobody willingly chooses sparkling water unless they hate themselves.” I laughed harder than I meant to. Eventually, Damien checked the time and sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately,” he said, standing, “I have work to do.” “That sounds like the end of our conversation.” “It is.” I stood too, brushing invisible dust from my clothe
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