Abby
Karl and I are in the kitchen after our run, making breakfast. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee fills the air, and after that run, I can’t deny the fact that I’m starving.
I glance over at Karl, who is engrossed in flipping pancakes on the stove. At least he’s wearing a shirt by now, but his biceps bulge against the sleeves and his chest muscles pop beneath the white fabric. It’s hard not to be attracted to him, but at the same time, I wish I wasn’t. I’m still upset after everything that happened.
I can’t seem to stop thinking about how he suddenly announced a ‘relationship’ and an intent to have a family with me at the holiday party this weekend without ever discussing it with me first. Sure, his reasons for doing it like that wound up making a modicum of sense in the
