“If he did,” I say, “Coop’s too much of a gentleman to make a big deal out of it.” “Gentleman?” Sam says. “He’s a cop. From my experience, they fuck like jackhammers
Baking is a science, as rigorous as chemistry or physics. There are rules that must be followed. Too much of one thing and not enough of another can lead to ruin. I find comfort in this. Outside, the world is an unruly place where men prowl with sharpened knives. In baking, there is only order. That’s why Quincy’s Sweets exist
Because here’s the thing about details—they can also be a distraction. Add too many and it obscures the brutal truth about a situation. They become the gaudy necklace that hides the tracheotomy scar. I make no attempts to disguise my scars. I just pretend they don’t exist
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