Chapter Twelve
Ben poured coffee in the oversized red mug in the warm and cozy kitchen of the main house. It was good, strong coffee, the kind you could only get from the darkest and freshest roasted beans, freshly ground by someone who understood what good coffee was. That was something he appreciated.
“Ben, breakfast should be ready in about ten minutes,” Alice said. “I hope you’re hungry! I made my aunt’s famous breakfast sausage casserole.” She had such a warm smile, nothing forced. It seemed so natural, coming from her vibrant, warm personality. He could tell that Alice was comfortable with who she was.
She wiped her hands on her red and white flowered apron, which she wore over a peach shirt and blue jeans. Her hair was held back by one of those headbands young girls usually wore,
