CHAPTER 13
The next day at work passes in a blur of aspirin, bottled water, and three chocolate bars. For some reason in Lary’s experience, sugar is always required to cure a hangover. Or maybe because her body is in such a self-destructive mess anyway, why not take advantage of the situation? Add some more trash before tossing out the trash bag, as it were.
Nutella flounces around in a flurry of micro tangerine, chitchatting with various potential buyers. “Why, of course, we can include the California shutters. But just for you, as you’re such a special …”
Lary is positive Nutella would fall to her knees and commit an illegal act if it meant a sale.
Then he walks in. Five-foot-seven of twinkly brown eyes, and slick black hair that falls across his forehead. He is either an artist or a
