Touch me, Mr. Rich
"Mr. Rich makes me feel ancient."
Kate rolled her eyes. "You are ancient, Dad."
"Cruel. My own daughter wounds me." But he was grinning, completely unbothered. "You two hungry? I'm making stir-fry."
"Starving," Kate said. "But we've got a project to work on, so we'll grab something later. Come on, Carol."
Carol followed Kate toward the stairs, but not before glancing back one more time. Mr. Rich had returned his focus to cooking, completely unaware of how her eyes traced the line of his shoulders, the way his hands moved with such certainty, the small furrow of concentration between his brows.
Bab Populer