HAZEL

"If you think of anything else, you’ll call me?" The tall dark brown-haired detective asked as he loomed in front of me while I sat at the small table in the bakery.

This space was warm and inviting, the smell of fresh cookies baking thick in the air as sunlight streamed through the large window, but I didn’t notice any of it. My brain was processing at a hundred times slower than normal. Meaning I was barely processing anything. It was a struggle to ...