Charisse stood on the curb and allowed the clash of horns and shouting to fill her head. She stared unseeing at the traffic going by. There was no way Conor should want anything to do with her salon. It had barely started making a profit. Any three of her father’s paintings would be worth far more than her business.
“Hey, ma laideur, let’s go,” said Marie. Continue reading
Evelyn Aster 