I don’t like pot pie. Well, deep inside I do, since my blood is English – way back to my great-great grandparents. So sure, I like pot pie the same way I like rose gardens and floral wallpaper and hot tea with milk.
But I used to never eat pot pie because, to be honest, it’s fattening; all flour and butter in the crust; butter and flour in the gravy; and then a speck of chicken in there. With maybe a pea or two. Continue reading
When Dirk handed it to her, Joyce didn’t know whether to scream or cry.
“Happy Valentine’s,” he said, with a sweet smile on his face.
They’d only been dating two months, but both of them had felt a strong connection, a sense that this romance could lead to something more than kisses and cozy strolls along the Charles River.
But now, this: a soft warm fuzzy gray scarf. Joyce held it out with her index finger and thumb. Continue reading