Nothing, I was just thinking.” “About?” Damien turned a page. Thankfully, he hadn’t used that word that forced out the truth. Her eyes flicked to the road ahead and a line of trees there. “Poplar.” “Pop-what?” “Poplar trees.” She pointed at the row coming up on their right. “There are three different kinds, black ones, white ones, and greys like those.” When he continued to look at her as if waiting for more, she figured she should go on despite that no one, except Laurel on rare occasion, ever really wanted to hear more when she was talking about trees. “The grey ones are superior. They’re a
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my husband will be so proud his favorite tree he loves to tell me about is in this book
