My mother laughs and pats her hand. “My son tells me you’re brilliant. That’s far more useful than cooking skills.”
Madison looks back at me again, her eyes gone soft.
I shrug.
I said what I said.
In the kitchen, my mother sets her bag down and reaches inside. “I never gave you a proper housewarming gift when you moved in.”
Tom gives me a sympathetic look, which isn’t comforting.
I tear the paper off the box.
Inside is a sleek set of high-end kitchen utensils.
On top, in all its glory, is a heavy-duty spatula.
Madison makes a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a choke.
My mother’s lips twitch.
Tom looks at the ceiling.
Madison steps into my space and wraps her arms around my waist.
“He’s still a little traumatized,” she tells my mother.
I stare down at the weapon in my hand.
Madison tilts her head up at me, entirely at ease now, and just like that, whatever battlefield she’d imagined walking into is gone.
I lean down and kiss the top of her head, pulling her flush against my side.
“Very funny,” I grumble, though I can’t stop the smile. “Everyone’s a comedian.”
Epilogue
Ten years later
Madison
The dog weighs one hundred and forty pounds.
This is important information because he is currently sitting on my husband.
“Roger,” I say calmly, standing in the doorway of our kitchen, coffee in hand. “You’re crushing a doctor.”
Beckett’s voice comes out somewhere beneath fur. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You can’t breathe.”
“I can breathe. I justcan’t feel my legs.”
Roger shifts, which somehow makes it worse.
For the record, getting a Great Dane was Beckett’s idea.
“We have the space,” he said.
