Gail G. Taylor – Page 9

The cold grain of the mediator’s cherrywood desk was the last thing I touched before the old life...

The glass ballroom at the river’s edge smelled like white roses and very old money, a scent that...

My phone buzzed against the mahogany table right at 4:15 PM, showing an email notification from the compliance...

The blue ceramic salt cellar sat right next to the gravy boat on my mother’s cherrywood table, its...

PART 1 The yellow compliance notice was taped directly to the unfinished oak framing of my new detached...

The plaster dust always smelled like old chalk. Whenever Daniel lost his temper in the den, he had...

PART 1 The automated system audit flag popped up on my terminal at six-fifteen on a Tuesday morning,...

The red cedar mulch in my front flower beds had a sour, damp smell after the Tuesday morning...

PART 1 The automated email from our corporate IT portal hit my inbox at five-fifteen on a cold...

The ice in my mineral water had melted down to little clear pebbles by the time Clara grabbed...