Maybe more personal contact would keep everyone happy. At least he hoped so. He stretched and yawned, then headed for his assistant’s cubicle. “I’m going to the coffee shop,” he said. “Good idea,” Monica replied. “You’ve been working awfully hard lately. And I know yesterday was a rough day.” “To...
She stood, hands on hips, awaiting his evaluation. “Your French toast is perfect,” Trent declared. “The best ever.” “It’s not too dark, is it? Shall I make you another batch?” “You won’t get this batch away from me, Rosa. Unless you hold a gun to my head.” He swirled a bite in the warm maple syru...