We stopped at a cozy café on Main Street — one of those modern places with white tiles, wooden counters, and quiet customers bent over laptops. It wasn’t the kind of place we usually went, but I thought it would be nice for once.
Ben chose a seat by the window. His curls stood on end from the cold, his cheeks flushed pink. When the waitress brought out his drink, a mountain of whipped cream sat on top. He took a sip and giggled, getting cream all over his nose.
The Cruel Words
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