Midnight Brunch
onesnappily ever after
I was sitting on the edge of the claw-foot bathtub, blow-drying the insides of my sodden work boots and conducting a state-of-the-chica analysis. My dwindling bank account had a disturbing inverse relationship to my increased efforts to sell my stories.
Oswald poked his head into the bathroom and asked, "What's that funny smell?" Looking at him made me feel as ebullient as champagne fizzing over the top of a glass.
Floating over the smell of my cooked leather boots was the faintly herbal scent of multispectrum sunblock. Oswald had to wear sunblock every day because he had a genetic autosomal recessive disorder that made him highly sensitive to sunlight and subject to unusual food cravings. On the plus side, he never got sick and healed rapidly from injuries.
Otherwise, he was perfectly normal. It was ridiculous that people harbored primitive superstitions against anyone with a medical anomaly.
I flicked off the blow-dryer. "That's the smell of my botas cooking. Your grandmother told me I can't put them in the dryer anymore because the thump-thump-thump sounds like a body. Which begs t ... read full excerpt from: Midnight Brunch ebook
