My ** account, which I only intermittently remembered to update, had been a lot more lively since @i_hate_ellery had started tagging me.
But I woke to find it was going notify-crazy, with no intervention from her at all. Which, given that my last post had been a suggestive butternut squash I’d seen at the farmers’ market down on Bute Street, meant that something else was going on.
Cringing, I opened Google and type my own name.
Not a bean, beyond my usual stuff, social media accounts I’d forgotten about, and some of the articles I’d written.
With an increasing swallowed-live-lizard feeling in my stomach, I tried: Jessica Bloomberg.
And boom.
In every afternoon tea-and-gossip magazine, there we were: me with my head in Jessi's lap as she fed me a strawberry in a fashion that, to tho
