“Plastic ware," he said slowly, "like knives and forks and spoons?"I brushed a bit of dirt off the back of my car—was that a scratch?—and said casually,"Yeah, I guess.Just the basics, you know.""Did you need plastic ware?" he asked.I shrugged."Because," he went on, and I fought the urge to squirm, "it's so funny, because I needplastic ware. Badly.""Can we go inside, please?" I asked, slamming the trunk shut. "It's hot out here."He looked at the bag again, then at me. And then, slowly, the smile I knew anddreaded crept across hisface. "You bought me plastic ware," he said. "Didn't you?'"No," I growled, picking at my license plate."You did!" he hooted, laughing out loud. "You bought me some forks. And knives.And spoons.Because—""No," I said loudly."—you love me!" He grinned, as if he'd solved the puzzler for all time, as I felt a flushcreep across myface. Stupid Lissa. I could have killed her."It was on sale," I told him again, as if this was some kind of an excuse."You love me," he said simply, taking the bag and adding it to the others."Only seven bucks," I added, but he was already walking away, so sure of himself. "Itwas on clearance,for God's sake.""Love me," he called out over his shoulder, in a singsong voice. "You. Love. Me.”