Even if she didn't buckle under the sheer volume of cute, there was quite a few cooing squeals behind her. He had her shop wrapped around his finger, her included. Frances squinted at him once more, clearly dragging out making the decision before very carefully plopping the hat on her head. "You're going to need something to stand on. MARK, THE BARSTOOL," she called and went to the cash register. After the Snarky-Comments War, the dry erase markers were kept under lock and key. The dish-washer brought over the stool and settled it under the large board and Frances handed over the markers. "Here you go, Boss."
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