*Michael*
The following afternoon, inside the sweet shop with the unimaginatively named ‘Sweet Shop’, I study the selections within the glass case. In the mood for some sugar, but without even a hint of lemon, I have already perused the jars on the shelves and found nothing of interest. When the bell above the door jingles, I don't bother to look, my focus narrowing to some red hard candies.
"Good afternoon, Miss Tempest," the silver-haired lady behind the counter says with enthusiasm.
I can't stop myself from turning then. Does the woman always wear a smile? Is she always glad to see people?
"Hello, Mrs. Flowers." Her eyes warm. "Mr. Solman."
"Miss Tempest." Her yellow dress reminds me of the sun cascading over a field of clover. With so little effort, she seems able to brighten the
