Cherry On Top

Cherry On Top

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WpMetadataReadOngoing2h 37m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Apr 6, 2014
Ariana-Dove Jensen, was the typical "go to school, sit there for 7 hours and leave" type of girl. She occasionally hung out with her best friends Tanner, and Cari. Her mom owned a local ice cream and bakery shop that everyone, I mean everyone went to. It was called Cherry On Top. And guess what? Ariana-Dove was forced to work there because she had snuck out one time in middle school, which made her mom go crazy and ground her for what felt like forever. She started working at the beginning of freshman year. ○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○ "You're so beautiful Ariana, so so so beautiful." He says cornering me against the faded red wall. "I-I what?" I stutter meeting his blue eyes. "You heard me." He whispers his breath fanning over my slighty open red lipstick covered lips.
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Freen Sarocha Chakminha didn't believe in love anymore. Not the kind that stayed. Not the kind that healed. She believed in control, in silence, in the armor she'd built from betrayal and ambition. Love was a transaction. Touch was temporary. And people-people always wanted something. Until the girl showed up at her door. Rain-soaked, trembling, eyes wide with heartbreak and hope. Rebecca Armstrong. Pregnant. Homeless. Carrying the child of Freen's brother-the same brother who vanished with her money and left chaos in his wake. Freen should have turned her away. She almost did. But something in Becky's voice-raw, unfiltered, painfully honest-cut through the walls Freen had spent years fortifying. She let her in. Not just into her house. Into her life. Into the quiet spaces she never let anyone see. And slowly, without permission, Becky began to unravel her. Not with grand gestures. But with soup and silence. With late-night study sessions and soft laughter. With the kind of love that didn't demand-but stayed. This isn't a story about perfect people. It's a story about broken ones who chose each other anyway. About fire inherited not from blood, but from survival. And how sometimes, the coldest hearts burn the brightest-when someone finally sees them.

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