Fifteen
Blaine
The smell of garlic-roasted chicken hit my nostrils the second I walked through the door. Soft jazz played from the dining room, and I could see the warm glow of candle lights spilling out into the doorway, just like it had when I came down to Mira’s “Lasagna Surprise” last week. I suppressed a cringe at the memory of how that night had ended. Hopefully, tonight would go a whole lot better. I was banking a pretty big business deal on this, and had had time to regret making the suggestion more than once since I found Mira sobbing in our kitchen in the middle of used tissue paper and clutching a giant jar of pickles. But if it worked…
I sighed softly at the memory of how vulnerable she’d looked as she sat there in her pajama bottoms and the same, silky chemise she’d worn on
