The Misdelivered Secret Between Arthur and the Girl Next Door

driver’s seat.

I waved back.

The porch light hummed above me.

On the table beside my chair sat a small plate covered with foil.

Still warm.

Cinnamon rolls.

I lifted one and took a bite.

Too much frosting.

Helen would have said so.

I looked toward her empty chair.

“Don’t start,” I said softly.

The night answered with nothing.

But it did not feel empty.

Not anymore.continue reading …