Fiona's POV
"Milk?" I repeated, my heart sinking as realization hit me like a truck.
Nathan's expression confirmed it—his jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, and there was a faint sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.
"You're allergic, aren't you, oh my! I forgot?" I said, my voice trembling.
He didn't answer right away, but his hand reached for his glass of water. He took a slow sip, his usual composed demeanor slipping just slightly. "It's fine," he muttered, his voice a bit strained. "I'll be fine."
"Fine?!" I shot up from my chair, panic already. "Nathan, you're clearly not fine! Why didn't you say something earlier?"
"I didn't want to ruin the moment," he said with a weak smile, though his breathing was starting to sound a little off.
"Ruin the moment?" I stared at him in disbelief. "Nathan, you could've died! Where's your EpiPen? Do you have one?"
