Marcus shrugged. "Does it matter? As long as the check clears."
The Architecture of Light
"It matters to the house," Brooke said softly. She turned back to the room, the invisible strings of her trade pulling tight in her hands. "Okay. Let's bring the lights in. I want to highlight the crown molding." brooke lynn santos
“It’s an investment,” she replied. She placed a single, sealed container on his mahogany desk. Marcus shrugged
Brooke wasn’t just the cook; she was the alchemist. While her mother managed the money and her father fixed the bikes out front, Brooke worked the magic. Her adobo had the dark, vinegary depth that made old men cry for their late wives. Her lugaw was a hug in a bowl. But her secret—the one that had kept the family afloat when the construction site across the street shut down—was the special menu. She turned back to the room, the invisible
"The one where you look like you're solving a math problem that doesn't have an answer."