Jess Berens

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“I tried calling her,” I explain. While sitting on the edge of my bed with a wilting blue flower in the palm of my hand. I dialed her number three times and listened to a generic voicemail message. I typed out seven different text messages before I settled on a simple Where did you go? I wanted to send another. Why did you go? “She didn’t answer.”
In the Weeds (Lovelight, #2)
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