“at the last minute the previous Saturday. He felt bad about that. “I’m good,” he answered now. “Still working on my coffee.” She pulled out a chair and sank onto it. “How about something . . . that you can’t get here, then?” she asked, seeming embarrassed. It was endearing. “Like . . . an omelet?” he teased. She laughed. She was pretty—blonde, trim, maybe five-six. And she was nice. He’d”
―
Kim Law,
Montana Cherries
