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... itchenette. She’d changed into comfortable clothes—soft pants and an oversized sweater that somehow made her look both casual and elegant.

"I ordered room service," she said without looking up from the stove. "But I thought I’d make us something while we wait."

"You cook?"

She laughed, the sound lighter than he’d heard from her all evening. "I’m a nutritionist, Eric. Of course I cook."

Right. That made sense.

She was making something simple—pasta with what ...

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