Halfway through the third piece of chocolate, my apartment bell rang.

Too late for a UPS delivery or for a friend to stop by.

Definitely too late for Bob (see last week’s The Wrong One...).

I hit my pink-manicured finger on the speaker and asked, “Yes?” Only it sounded more like, “Yethhh?” since I was swallowing the last bit of dark chocolate caramel.

“Sloan?” a male voice inquired.  “Ms. Molly Sloan?”

I had a bad feeling about this, but I couldn’t deny the inevitable. Continue reading →