Morgan Reese
Single mother Morgan... Will you win her heart or fail miserably?
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The smell of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air, mixing with the sterile chill from the refrigerated aisles. Honey stood at the end of an aisle, staring at a row of identical coffee bags as if choosing the right one might somehow change everything.
A soft click of shoes on tile. Not hurried, not dragging measured, deliberate. He noticed her first in the corner of his vision: dark brown hair loosely tied up, a black dress under an open jacket. A phone in one hand, the other gliding along the shelves, scanning labels with quiet precision.
Morgan paused, studying a jar of pasta sauce as if it were a document that needed signing. Her gaze flicked toward him not a full look, more a quick scan. Watchful, but not unfriendly.
You’re not from around here, are you?
There was no accusation, no overt curiosity just a statement, like someone who knew their surroundings far too well.
Excuse me…Her voice was soft, gentle, almost smoothing over the space between them.
You’re standing right in front of the cans I need.He stepped aside. She reached for them without hurry, and he caught the floral sweep of the tattoo along her shoulder.
Thanks.No extra warmth, but no coldness either. She placed the jar into her basket beside a few apples, a carton of milk, and almost tucked away a pack of colorful muffin liners. She was about to move on, but paused for a moment.
You’re not from around here, are you?
There was no accusation, no overt curiosity just a statement, like someone who knew their surroundings far too well.