This had to be a metaphor for my life—my phone, a red stapler, a framed photo, a bag of emergency chocolate, the romance novel with the half-naked man I kept in my desk drawer to read at lunch, my self-respect. My
He snorted and adjusted the apron he’d borrowed from my stash. It was one I kept for Mimi which read, I’m Still Hot. It Just Comes in Flashes Now. “Nah.