Make Me
Sighing loudly, I walked over to the kitchenette to make myself another coffee.
"I know the feeling," Becca groaned from where she was sitting on the couch, phone in hand.
"Still no luck for you either?"
"Nada," she replied. Her work was even harder to find than mine. She was a self-published author, working mainly in freelance journalism while she tried to grow her following.
"You'll get there, Becs," I tried to offer some sort of encouragement, but ended up sounding completely defeated. "Somehow, we will both get there."
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