The Seven Year Slip

When the last taste in our mouths was lemon drops?

I was never the kind of woman to fall in love with a voice,

was never the kind of woman to fall in love with a voice,

If you want something, you have to go for it. No one else will be more on your side than you.”

It was good to see you again, Lemon,” before he slipped out of the conference room, and I was left, mouth open, staring after him.

“And you’ll follow?”
“To the moon and back,” he replied,

I didn’t need to be fixed. I just needed . . . to be reminded that I was human.
And dinner with a stranger who didn’t look at me like I was broken had been a surprisingly good start.

“You are who you are, and you like what you like,” he replied, and there was no sarcasm in his voice. “You are you, and that’s a lovely person to be.”

“Whatever you say, Lemon.”
I shot him a glare. “It’s Clementine.”
“Clllllllemontine.”
“I suddenly hate you.”

My aunt used to say, if you don’t fit in, fool everyone until you do.