Storm-Worn Hearts
Friendly in a way that didn’t invite too much.
Career focused in a way that felt safer than hope.
I’d dated, technically. A few dinners. A few kisses that felt like reading words in a language I didn’t speak. Nothing ever lit. Nothing ever stayed. Because somewhere deep in my stupid, faithful heart, a storm grey eyed boy still existed, frozen in time at a dinner table, leaving.
Liberty, now twenty five and the proud owner of Liberty Crumbs, a bright little bakery on the corner of Sycamore and 8th, called me between cases, her voice always threaded with sugar and mischief.
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