I barely spoke.

Thomas didn’t pressure me.

On the second, he asked whether I still hated pears.

I frowned. “How would you know that?”

“Your mother hated them.”

“So?”

His mouth twitched.

“So did you. Even mashed into baby food.”

I hated hearing that story.

Mostly because part of me wanted another.

Part 2

Grant yanked me backward, sending my phone sliding across continue reading …

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