“Or me. Mine took me ages,” Aela said dryly.
Camille shrugged. “Mine turned out all right.”
“And mine.”
Star tossed a pillow at Aoife. “Of course it did, Ms. Home Shit Queen.”
“Star, must you swear?” I chided.
“Don’t discourage her, Grandma Lena! I’m collecting!” Kat yelled.
“Still?”
“Hey, we’re funding a sanctuary on Star’s sailor mouth,” Eoghan drawled. “Don’t stop her, Ma.”
With another tut, I prodded, “Well, get on with it! I want to see what you came up with.”
Star tossed a package onto Aoife’s knee. “You’re welcome. And if you ever sell them to your home-goods empire, I want a forty per cent cut.”
Aoife narrowed her eyes. “Thirty.”
“Good girl,” Finn crooned.
Conor elbowed Star. “Thirty-eight.”
“Thirty-one.”
“Thirty-seven-point-five.”
“Thirty-one-point-five.”
“You don’t even know what I’m taking a cut of yet!”
She shrugged. “You’re too smug for it to be shit.”
“Kat! Aunt Aoife owes you ten bucks, too.”
“Thanks, Aunt Aoife!” Kat hollered over from the other side of the room, where the kids were tearing into their gifts like the heathens they could be when they got together.
Even Shay, who was “too cool” for anything these days, tore through wrapping paper like that fellow with the scissors on his hands.
Aoife carefully unfolded the tucks on her own gift until Star sighed. “Just rip it.”
“It’s my gift!” Aoife snapped, but she finally uncovered a box.
I was surprised but grateful when she held it up to me, though I had no idea what it was.
Star beamed at her. “My extra-loud crackers.”
“Bombs,” Conor muttered.
“They’re not bombs. How many times? I’ve made bombs, dammit. I know the difference.”
Aoife stared at them with a frown. “Are they going to take off my hands?”
“No!” Huffing, Star leaned over, grabbed one of the oddly shaped things, and waggled it when Aoife didn’t bite. “Go on!”
Finn snagged the cracker. “If you take off a finger, I’ll bill you for it.”
