Margarette Macaron Novels & Stories

Then another. Each time, Margaret found something wrong. “The fabric wrinkles too easily.” “The silhouette doesn’t flatter authority.” “This white is too warm. I want it cold. Pure. Untouched.” “This one looks like something a woman with no money or class chose. Disgusting.” The designers exchanged glances but said nothing, only moving faster, eager to please. Margaret set her cup down again and finally spoke with deliberate emphasis. “I want white,” she said. “Not cream. Not pearl. White. Immaculate. Sharp.”

that usually turned out to be excuses to visit. "I brought you boys some of my peach cobbler," she said, lifting the Tupperware container. "Made it fresh this morning. And don't you dare say you're watching your figure. A man who works as hard as you deserves dessert." The other mechanics perked up at the mention of cobbler. Margaret's baking was legendary in their garage. "You're too good to us, Margaret," Rick said sincerely, taking the container. "The guys are going to fight over this."