“Nachos? I haven’t eaten nachos in years.” Melanie looked at the spread of appetizers before them. The clams weren’t fattening by themselves, but eating them without the focaccia bread, which was practically dripping with butter, would be a crime. The deep fried calamari was popular with the table, though she’d never been a big fan of it. But nachos. She had a totally ridiculous weak spot for nachos.
“It’s okay,” Perrin dipped a piece of the bread into the clam juices, bit off a chunk, and sighed happily as she bit in. “Nothing here has calories or fat. Not as long as we’re all together. It’s one of the rules.”
Melanie could already feel that second glass of wine. She never drank two glasses. Hell, she never drank one. She tried closing one eye, then both. But the nachos were still there
