Secret Vows. Rochelle Alers

      “Thank you.”

      She sat on the bench, unzipped the four-inch booties, wiggling her toes. The polish on her left big toe had chipped. She’d set aside Mondays to drive into town for a day of beauty that included hair and a mani-pedi. Jason pulled out a bin labeled Socks and handed her a pair of white golf socks.

      “Have you had breakfast?”

      Her head popped up. “No.”

      Jason held out his hand, pulling her to her feet. “Neither have I. We’ll talk while I cook.”

      “You cook?”