Adalia stood in the office at the bakery and looked at the potted plant in the corner. It brought back memories of Trent, of Michelle, things that made her stomach turn and then put it at ease seconds later.
She turned and walked back to the chair, then sat down. She was nowhere near showing her pregnancy, but she couldn’t help lowering herself carefully, avoiding a bump on the front from the desk. Trent’s insistence on caution was infectious.
Adalia clenched her fists and glared at the papers on the desk. Order sheets and other mundane tasks, when really, she wanted to work on her catering business. She hadn’t even decided on a name yet.
A knock rattled the door.
That had better not be Trent. “Who is it?” Adalia called out.
The doorknob turned and DeShawn entered, without his do-rag
