There was fire in April’s eyes.
Sitting at the counter table in her new clothes, she stared, no, glared at him as he worked around the kitchen.
“Stop glaring at me,” Christopher told her with a chuckle.
If anything else, that only made her glare intensify. He sighed. She was most likely still angry that he dragged her out of the bedroom and carried her down the stairs.
He moved to the fridge and pulled out a box of juice and gallon jug of milk. Pouring her a glass of the juice, he set it on the counter, hoping the sweet drink could make her, well, sweet.
"Drink up."
Without waiting to see if she was going to drink it, he turned to his bacon on the skillet and cracked two eggs into the side. Then he walked to the cupboard and pulled out a box of oatmeal. Scooping some into a bowl,
