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that stuck out a very long way to the sides, and well… I’m sure you get the idea. I looked the extreme opposite to a supermodel. However, now I had to admit that I looked pretty good, better than good. The extensive plastic surgery had seen to that. I hadn’t been able to stare at myself in the mirror yet, despite the wisdom of the hospital psychologist who had visited me once a week. Nevertheless, from my quick glances, I knew I still had the same long blonde hair, but now I had a cute little nose, high cheekbones, and a nicely shaped mouth. What’s more, my skin was smooth and glowing. I assumed it was because of all the anti-inflammatories they had packed into me for the last few months. There was not a sign of the deeply acne marked skin I’d had at the time of the car wreck. And now I had a figure to match that face. It was as if the plastic surgeons had free rein to make me look like what I assumed was their idea of the ideal woman.
    Come to think of it, in the short time since I had escaped from the hospital, I had noticed men looking at me, but I had paid it no mind at the time. Perhaps they were looking at me because I was attractive, after all. It was certainly something to have to wrap my head around.
    I looked up, realizing that Borage was trying to get my attention.
    “Sorry, I was a million miles away,” I said, and walked through the door he was holding open for me. I took an instant dislike to the store. It was dark and dingy and had an overly gloomy atmosphere. I couldn’t tell what the store had been before, but it looked as though it had been vacant for quite some time. I tried to remember what it had been. I had a vague recollection that it had been some sort of gift store, and before that, a hairdressing salon. I was still having trouble with my memory, and the doctors had told me that this was likely to be just a temporary thing. Still, I had a very vivid memory of most things that had happened to me in high school. The therapist said it was selective memory. Just remembering what this store had been was making my head hurt.
    The next store was even worse, with a very narrow front that nevertheless extended deep out the back. I was beginning to be a bit worried that I wouldn’t find a suitable store. This had been one of two bakeries in town, and had closed down, some time ago by the look of it. The bakery fittings had been removed, but the walls were somewhere between mustard and beige, and there was the smell of damp. I looked up at the high pressed metal ceilings, and although I appreciated that they were an original feature, I did not appreciate the hideous shade of pink in which they were painted. The store wasn’t light enough, and it felt claustrophobic.
    I turned to Borage. “I don’t like this one either. It’s a bit depressing. Don’t you have anything that’s nice and light?”
    He nodded. “There’s a little one up the other end of town. It used to be a chocolate shop, but in more recent times it was a café.”
    “Was that the one that closed only recently?” Carl asked.
    “That’s right,” Borage said.
    I tried to remember the store so hard that my head actually hurt. I rubbed my temples furiously, but that didn’t help. I remembered the chocolate shop where Guy had humiliated me, but that one had shut down years ago. “When was it a chocolate shop?” I asked Borage.
    Carl answered for him. “It started when you were in the hospital, Narel,” he said. “It was only open for about three months.”
    Boris shot me a curious look. I expected he wondered why I had been in the hospital for so long. Clearly he was too polite to mention it, as he merely asked if we’d like to see the old chocolate shop now.
    “Yes,” I said. “But why did it shut down? That doesn’t bode well for me opening a chocolate shop in the same town.”
    Borage hurried to reassure me. “The lady who opened it was married to a farmer, and she only opened on Tuesdays and Thursdays to start