Alex has been walking on eggshells. He's been so attentive its suffocating, he keeps asking if I'm alright and if there's something bothering me. What bothers me is knowing how paranoid he'll get if I tell him about the phone call.
I've sent him across the street back to the Starbucks while I finish up one of my last few portraits of the day. I'm signing my name and getting my money by the time he's walking back. I see my drink in one hand and a bag in the other.
"I got you a cake pop," he smiles gently at the blonde 30-something year old as he hands me the bag and cup.
"A what?" Looking in the bag I see a little pink ball on a stick, it smells so good.
"They take cake and smush it into a ball, put on a stick and dunk it chocolate or frosting or whatever. You haven't eaten much today a
