out laughing.
Owen watched with frosting up to his elbows. “Dad, I think she’s really mad.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Very.”
By minute twelve there was no cake left at all. Not one intact tier. Just smeared tablecloth, ribbon, broken flowers, and exhausted laughter rippling through survivors on both sides of the frosting continue reading …
