Thanksgiving at Elliot Farm_10 Years_Dinner for Two, Plus One?_Seventy-Five Not Out
Catalog Guide:
Thanksgiving at Elliot Farm
Claire Elliot stared at the crumpled-up shopping list she held in her hand. Sighing, she shoved the list into her vest and glanced down at the freezer case of turkeys, each with their plastic skin glistening in the stark overhead lights, vibrant stickers advertising the weight of the bird. For a second her hand lingered over the biggest one, but she quickly picked up the smallest size they had at the end. No use in spending all that money when it’s just me.Looking around the store, Claire felt a pang of something heavy, hitting her like a hammer. Surrounding her all the carts were overflowing...
10 Years
Standing in front of the mirror, Lilianna runs her hands down and straightens her emerald green dress. A wedding, that’s where she’s heading. A wedding she had only been made aware of this morning.It was a pleasant Sunday morning. She was lying in bed, holding her book on her side as she immersed herself into the blissful world of Fairies and Demons. It was going to be disgustingly sick enemies-to-lovers tale, and she couldn’t wait to be dragged into the whirlwind of drama and heartbreak. That was, until she was rudely thrown into one of her own.She has to attend a wedding in three hours.Damon...
Dinner for Two, Plus One?
The house seemed to groan in protest as Freddie began his work in the kitchen. He smiled, taking the complaint in stride. What was it they said; everyone is a critic? He didn’t really understand why people said that; www.onedoor.ccmost people were not critics. Though, he knew, many people were prone to criticism. But now, in the age of cellphones, Yelp, and Google Maps, maybe most people did think of themselves as actual critics? Freddie didn’t know. It didn’t really matter though, in the end, he knew everything would work out as it was meant to. There wasn’t any reason to stress or panic. The meal would c...
Seventy-Five Not Out
Seventy-Five Not OutJoy put the postcard down, dried her eyes, and stepped out into the East London morning, sun just rising over the trees opposite. It promised to be a glorious summer day and she had to do a few errands, like she'd done almost every day all her life, one of the things that got her up and out in the mornings. At 82 you needed to keep moving. She'd been talking to Sylvie, her friend of three quarters of a century. She'd shed a tear, not because she was sad, but Sylvie had sent her the card with a particularly smutty joke, one far too rude to print here. She hoped the postman h...