Kayla had decorated the counter with simple white flowers.
No balloons.
No glitter.
Just clean tablecloths and trays of cinnamon rolls.
Tom made meatloaf.
Linda poured coffee.
I sat at the end booth, the one by the window.
Brian slid in across from me.
For a while, we watched Kayla moving between tables, laughing for real.
“She’s something,” Brian said.
“Yes.continue reading …
