Poor Harold was the only man at the Senior Center with all his teeth, thus the target of every member of the local pack of rabid widows. Having spent a few decades of silent evenings eating franks and beans, he finally decided to cull one from the herd.

Maybe Velma—she was as skinny as an ugly stick, but man oh man, her fried chicken and lemon cake. Lord have mercy.

Maybe Dorothy—plump and pretty, she stirred long-forgotten sensations in his southerly regions. But the woman lived on blue boxes of macaroni and cheese. Lord, have mercy.

Poor Harold.

[I’m running a giveaway for Stolen Postcards on Goodreads. You can enter here. And my friend, Theresa Santy, is also running a Goodreads giveaway for On the Edge–hers is here. Please share to spread the word!]


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