Skip to content "Traffic on the bridge was a nightmare," Ariella said, setting her bag down on a barstool. She looked at the setup, her eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. "What is all this? I thought we were just heating up leftovers."
The kitchen island, usually a chaotic repository of mail and unfinished coffee cups, had been cleared. A crisp white tablecloth had been thrown over it, and in the center sat two tall tapered candles, their flames dancing lazily. The overhead lights were dimmed, casting the room in a cozy, intimate shadow. ariella ferrera dinner
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