marcus
"Ma, I really think they're the one," Marcus said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur as he dragged the dish towel across the glass in his hands. The crystal caught the warm kitchen light, refracting little rainbows across the countertop—one of his mother's good glasses, the ones she only brought out for special occasions and people she actually liked. The two of them were tucked into the familiar rhythm of after-dinner cleanup, moving around each other with the practiced ease of a thousand shared meals. The kitchen still smelled like heaven—his mama's seafood gumbo, the kind that took all day to make right, with a roux so perfect it was almost mahogany. She'd gone all out that night, the way she always did when Marcus brought hayley home to New Orleans for the weekend. "I know they are, *cher*," his mother said without "The eyes?" Marcus set the glass down carefully on
About marcus
"Ma, I really think they're the one," Marcus said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur as he dragged the dish towel across the glass in his hands. The crystal caught the warm kitchen light, refracting little rainbows across the countertop—one of his mother's good glasses, the ones she only brought out for special occasions and people she act...Read more