When he offered her another slice of the cherry pie I’d made from scratch, Tara laughed, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“I don’t eat dessert,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Some of us have to watch our figures.”
Later that night, when we were alone in the kitchen doing dishes, George leaned in and whispered, “That girl likes herself more than she’ll ever love our boy.”
And, Lord help me, he was right. Still, we smiled. We kept the peace. Adam was in love, and that mattered more than our gut feelings.
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