![]() ![]() Taylor said disappointedly, "promoting cholesterol consumption like this." Tara looked down at her beautiful muffins, fat and soft and gently browned, each perfectly baked and undoubtedly overflowing She gave a brief thought to lying,īut she didn't want to be struck dead by lightning-it would ruin her good hair day. Holding back the use of butter and lard was considered sacrilegious. "Are they low-fat?"īefore coming to Washington state, Tara had spent most of her life just outside of Houston on her grandparents' ranch, where Taylor, the owner of the local craft and supply shop, looked the basket over carefully. "Muffin?" she asked the next woman in line. At least her sundress was lightweight, the material gauzy and playful against her skin. ![]() ![]() Telling herself that she was merely glistening, and hopefully looking luminous while she was at it, Tara amped up her smileĪnd kept going. Perspiring wasn't just undignified, it contradicted her never let 'em see you sweat motto. Perspiration beaded on her skin, which really chapped her hide. Pacific's thrashing waves beating the shore. The large basket was heavier than she'd anticipated, and the late afternoon June sun beat down on her head in tune to the ![]() Muffin?" Tara asked as she walked along the long line of people waiting on the pier to enter Lucky Harbor's summer festival. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |