as if even the kitchen had decided to take a rest with me.
“Melanie,” Ryan muttered through gritted teeth, “don’t do this.”
I looked up.
“Do what?”
His mom opened the refrigerator again, as if looking a second time would somehow make platters of BBQ brisket, mac and cheese, and pulled pork magically appear.
Nothing.
Only my salad with my name on it, a container continue reading …
