Unspoken Fears

Stella

Vance 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 Vance, 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.