“Sure, you can.” Lola chuckled at me like I was a petulant child.
She headed out, and I stared at the organic groceries in my fridge.
Talking with Lola today proved one thing: if the tale of my dream got out into the community, my reputation was toast. Roasted toast. I’d better not tell anyone—not even Dr. Cook in our next meeting.
An hour later, I was upstairs alone, when the doorbell rang.
“Did you forget something, Lola?” I held my sister’s phone out to return it. Instead of Lola’s face, I was greeted by a large bouquet of flowers. Huge, in fact. “Lola?”
The bouquet lowered, and I saw the face of Sheridan Chandler.
Frowning.