BOUND TO THE WRONG SISTER
"Did you know... that the French eat snails because they dislike fast food?"
I stared at him. The silence in the car was deafening. He didn't crack a smile; his expression was completely deadpan, his dark brows furrowed in intense concentration. The feared, dangerous Salvatore was genuinely trying to deliver a terrible dad joke, and he looked like he was suffering through it.
Before I could even process the absurdity of it, he cleared his throat again, his ears turning just a fraction of a pinkish hue.
"What do you call a fake noodle?" he muttered, looking straight ahead at the windshield. "An impasta."
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