Oliver was at a loss for words. Really? Did she really say that she was spending the morning with Marcus Fucking Flint?! What business did he have visiting her place that time of day? Why did she deliver that piece of news so casually, as though it was no big deal? You don't invite Marcus Flint into your house; you string garlic up and sit in the corner wielding a crucifix until he floats away to feed on some alley cats. He couldn't believe his ears. Was this real life, or had he died and gone to hell?
When they finally reached the cash register, he promptly asked for the most fattening item on the drink menu. An eggnog latte topped with thick whipped cream, melted chocolate and caramel chunks? "Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes." He replied blankly.