Daniel’s advice to rest while she could came far too late.
After finishing the list and receiving Daniel’s tour, she’d stowed her belongings in her tiny apartment. Then she’d hit the White House cafeteria for lunch.
While she’d been out, a magical fairy-godmother of a buyer had transformed the all-American, iceberg-lettuce kind of kitchen into an Italian and French paradise of curly pastas and strings of garlic. Her full shopping list had been filled in mere hours, magnificently. The best dishes always came from having the best ingredients.
As a nice bonus, her notes to herself at the bottom of the list to buy pots and herb starts had been handled. She couldn’t help sticking her nose close to the container herb-garden suddenly sprouting on her patio. The tang of lemon sage, the mouthwat
