“Why?” I ask, standing now myself. “Not even for five minutes?” “No.” Damon turns, his eyes flashing in the flickering light of the fireplace. “I’m sorry. But… I will allow you to explain yourself first. I have, after all, only heard one side of the story.” I pinch the bridge of my nose with my
Abby I always hated the color yellow. To me, it was like the color of a lukewarm stick of butter or jaundice. But everything changed when I was trying to pick out my wedding bouquet. “Dammit. I really had my heart set on those lilies,” I said with a huff. “Now what am I supposed to pick?” “W
“Abby! Good morning,” he says, folding the newspaper up and setting it on the desk. “Come in, come in.” “Morning, Damon,” I say as I step into the room. Damon rises from his chair as I approach. “Do you need something?” he asks. “It’s a bit early—” “This is embarrassing.” I can’t help but chuc
Abby I always hated the color yellow. To me, it was like the color of a lukewarm stick of butter or jaundice. But everything changed when I was trying to pick out my wedding bouquet. “Dammit. I really had my heart set on those lilies,” I said with a huff. “Now what am I supposed to pick?” “W
“Abby! Good morning,” he says, folding the newspaper up and setting it on the desk. “Come in, come in.” “Morning, Damon,” I say as I step into the room. Damon rises from his chair as I approach. “Do you need something?” he asks. “It’s a bit early—” “This is embarrassing.” I can’t help but chuc
Abby I step out of Damon’s office with the yellow flower still pressed between my fingers. There is a bittersweet smile on my face, but not for the reasons that Damon seems to believe. After all, I’m not really smiling because a handsome prince has just given me a flower. Rather, I’m smiling to
Abby Two lines. My hands shake as I stare down at the test in my hands. Two lines—pregnant. No, more than two lines, if you count the other two tests I’ve taken. Six lines; three positive results. “I just don’t believe it,” I whisper, my eyes misted over with tears. “I… I…” My voice trails o
I’m just about to open my mouth to respond when the intercom connected to the private rooms suddenly buzzes to life. “Chef Abby and staff, please report to the kitchen.” … “Whew. I am beat,” John says, wiping the sweat off of his brow with his towel as we wrap up for the day. “What a long day.