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One man is in his small front garden, planting some daisies. That he does this wearing white long johns is a little different.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try just one.” Frances closes her mouth, her brow furrowed as she takes the book. I peek at the title: Sweet Dreams by Kristen Ashley.
“I promise I’ll be safety conscious, yes.” Up on tippy-toes, I give him a kiss. “Go to work. I’ll be okay. If it is the same person, at least they seem to be sort of de-escalating. Perhaps next time they’ll just send me a sternly worded letter.” “Glad you’ve still got your sense of humor, but I’m not ready to laugh about this yet.” Iris, however, is good to go. “A sonnet expressing their displeasure, perhaps?” “Maybe a cutting limerick?” She grins with glee. “How about an abrasive haiku?” “A bad fortune cookie?”
“Nothing wrong with a little slap and tickle so long as it’s consensual,” says Iris. She always knows what to say.
