wine, desserts, and grease-stained bags covering my counters.
After dinner, I rinsed plates while Spencer cried in his crib. Becca leaned back, surveyed the mess, and said lightly, “Guests don’t do dishes, honey. It’s bad luck.”
Thomas froze.
“You’re right,” I said. “Thomas will take over.”
Becca smiled, pleased. That was the moment she decided she’d won.continue reading …
