The Waiting Game The bakery bell jingled as Marlon stepped inside, his usual confident stride replaced by something more hesitant. Becca glanced up from frosting a cupcake, her eyebrow quirking. Becca: “Wow. You actually combed your hair.” Marlon ran a self-conscious hand through it. “Shut up. Is Chelsea here?” Becca smirked. “Nope. Took the day…...
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