Letisha’s POV
I thumped a fist heavily onto my sewing machine and winced in regret when my hand complained at my actions, but my sewing machine sat stoically on my desk, unresponsive to my act of violence.
Of course it's unresponsive, Letisha. It's an inanimate object.
“What did that poor machine ever do to you?”
I glanced up to see Adrian standing in the doorway. He was still wearing his suit, and a bouquet of flowers dangled from one hand.
My eyes tracked him as he waltzed into the room, his stride unhurried and graceful. I almost forgot my frustrations, simply watching him walk. When he stopped, he leaned a hip against my desk and stretched the flowers in his hand toward me.
I raised a brow as I accepted his offering.
“What are these for?” I asked in delighted surprise.