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Dinner with Ms Gwayne

It was about an hour before noon when the doorbell rang. The cranky retired night worker groaned at the consistent ringing. What sort of overly enthusiastic bastard was here to ruin her day? She was living in a poor district, for heaven’s sake! Nobody living here had any money to buy insurance. They only had enough for spare cancer sticks on payday!

Yanking open the door grouchily, Ms Gwayne growled menacingly. Just as she was about to give the pesky salesperson a piece of her mind, the words got lodged in her throat. That familiar sapphire blue eyes and coppery hair hadn’t changed since she left this shithole. For a moment, Ms Gwayne thought she was dreaming.

“Good morning, Ms Gwayne! Or should I say afternoon? Have you had lunch? I made too many, so I decided to bring some over. It’s my day off, and I was getting tired of cleaning.&rdq

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