Unspoken Love
He looked Sam up and down—Sam was currently wearing a borrowed oversized shirt of mine and an expression of exaggerated readiness.
"Yes, Mr. Baker," Sam chirped, snapping a crisp, military-style salute. "Sam Perez at your service. I can cook, I can clean, and I can sell bread like it’s the last food on earth. Just say the word, Chief."
Mr. Baker let out a wheezing laugh that shook his flour-dusted apron. I couldn't help but smile, too. My own personality was a quiet, brooding thing—a product of years of survival. Sam, however, was like a sparkler in a dark room. He was loud, unfiltered, and vibrantly alive despite having absolutely nothing.
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