“Don’t be out too late, kids,” Davi bid.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Kenna said.
I looked to Dad. “Dinner is?—”
He didn’t move an inch, except his mouth. “Darling, I’ve read your detailed instructions. I can heat up an oven and put a lasagna in it.”
“Ooo we’re having lasagna?” Davi asked excitedly.
That day, while I helped Chloe at the shop, then came home and cooked, Davi and Kenna spent the day in Jerome, thus she didn’t know the evening’s menu.
“The garlic bread—” I began.
“Go,” Dad urged.
Dair tugged my hand.
Time to go.
I went with him.
He guided me down the steps, opened the car door, helped me in, then closed it.
Okay.
Good kisser.
Add one (a big one, so big, it was more like ten).
Loved my cooking, showed it and thought it worthwhile.
That was two.
Didn’t get turned off when I was being snotty, which happened a lot.
And we were at three.
Didn’t bolt when I threw a strawberry, or I yelled at my father.
Now four.
Didn’t paint me with the same brush as my mother after that crazy scene at the wedding, and the fallout.
Up to five.
Opened my car door for me.
And six.
Boy, he sure was racking up the points.
We were on our way before he broke the silence. “Have a good day?”
“Yes,” I said formally. “You?”
“Not sure your father is best pleased with me considering I walloped him at golf.”
Oh dear.
