“There’s nothing to fix, Lucie.” The smile slips from my face until I’m staring down at the chip in the top lip of my coffee mug. I drag my thumb over it. “You’re not a toaster. Or faulty wiring. And I’m not a guru or a psychic or a…professional…in any sense of the word. I’m just a person. A person who likes talking to other people. Who, occasionally, has mediocre advice to give. You’re safe with me, and with the people listening. I promise.
