“Somehow, I think I’ll fall short of my sister’s expectations.”
“We’re having spaghetti and meatballs,” she coaxed in a singsong voice.
“Homemade noodles?”
“And sauce.”
“In that case, I’ll brace myself for my little sister’s disappointment.”
Liv bumped her brother’s shoulder with hers. “Come on. I’ll let you grate the parmesan.”
As they strode up the driveway, they both glanced toward the departing white sedan.