“DARN REPORTERS,” HELEN grumbles over lunch.
“I knew you wouldn’t be happy when you saw it,” I say.
Chewing a forkful of chicken crepes, she says, “It almost cost me my 42-day non-cursing streak. Dan’s got a sign in the break room.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Go see for yourself. Apparently, my officers have a pool among themselves for when I’ll crack. You pick a date and throw a dollar into the pot.”
Looking at her with bemusement, I ask, “So what date did you pick?”
“December 26,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes that causes me to blush.
“Ahem, well,” I say, avoiding her gaze, “I hope you win.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I will.”
We’re still giggling when the phone on Helen’s desk rings. “Yes?” she says when she answers. “Wait, who?” Helen lays her head on her desk. “Sure, why not, send hi
