Leigh looked at the frog sympathetically. She was glad her great-grandmother’s dog, B.G. wasn’t here. Never one to be afraid of slimy things she held her hand down to it.
“Would you prefer a higher place to sit?” The frog was already on the coffee table. “Or maybe I can get you a um, more suitable chair?”
Truth was, Leigh was dying to try that room where you could make what ever you wanted. She just couldn’t think of anything to make for herself. Perhaps if she could make the talking frog more comfortable. Leigh laughed slightly, of all the oddities in the room, it was the talking frog she associated with. Must be remnants of her childhood day dreaming.
The frog apparently didn’t hear Leigh as it was talking with the others. This whole having an author business just addled Leigh’s brain. So she stood and left the room, managing to bump into the guy who’d burst through the door.
“Sorry,” she apologized. He looked normal, though he kept mumbling to himself. Not that she could blame him. Leigh headed up the stairs to find out exactly what that little room could make.