“Most of her friends would probably be in boots and jeans, but Paige was sick of jeans and boots, thick socks and heavy down coats. She’d grown up just thirty minutes from the beach in Southern California and spent the first thirty-five years of her life in short skirts, flip flops and breezy tops, and missed those skirts and silky tops, flirty flats and sexy heels. She didn’t think she’d put on a pair of heels since Lewis’ funeral. It was time to be pretty again, and girlish and sexy. Time to f...eel like a woman. Not a mom, not a business woman, not a baker or a restaurant owner. But a woman. A thirty-seven—almost thirty-eight-year-old, because Saturday, one week from today, she’d be thirty-eight. Crazy. Crazy how she’d gone from a thirty-five-year-old wife to a thirty-five-year-old widow and she’d been stuck there ever since. Not just grieving Lewis, but grieving who she’d thought they were as a family. His death had forced her to realize that he’d never really been there all that much.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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