The cornucopia spread upward from one corner, stretching out toward the center and overflowing with ripe fruit. Even though she’d painted it herself, the sign left Charisma’s stomach rumbling, reminding her that it had been hours since the last time she’d had anything to eat. Following the last piece of fruit, an apple that was a soft shade of green, but still reminiscent of the well-known Apple Sign, as she’d come to think of it, was Ross’ in pretty, bold, script. If she did say so herself, this was a vast improvement over what the store had previously used to advocate its groceries. She wiped her hands on a paint-stained towel, one of many she had stashed away in the back of her linen closet at home for just such occasions. If she were lucky, maybe she could scrounge up some sort of dinner. If she were really lucky, some half-way decent restaurant would open in Carlton, so that when she was really hot and hungry and tired, she wouldn’t have to go home and struggle to find something palatable to make.
