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The Popsicle Maker

Packaging crinkles as Hal turns the popsicle mold over in his hands, eyes narrowed. “Did you know,” he says, “that water-based lube freezes?”

Drin and Dance look at each other, thoughtful.  Emma brays laughter, sees Grace’s horrified face, and almost sprays everyone with lemonade.

Hal’s not expecting Grace to move as quickly as she does.  She twists the package out of his hand before he has time to do more than stutter, and flings herself back into the chair, trapping the mold under her butt.  No way Hal was getting that thing back, at least not while they have company.

Men. Honestly.

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