“If you need money, your mother and I can help out.”
“Your father’s right, dear,” Mom said, handing Knox a cup of coffee and the second to me. She was wearing plaid pajama shorts and a matching button-down top.
“I don’t need any money. I have money,” I insisted.
“We’ll go this afternoon,” Dad decided.
I shook my head. “That’s not necessary.” I hadn’t finished my spreadsheet yet and I was not walking on a car lot without knowing exactly what I wanted and what it was worth.
“We’ve already got plans to look at cars today,” Knox announced.
Crabby Viking says what? Car shopping plans were news to me. And unlike having a boyfriend, the purchase of a car wasn’t nearly as easy to fake for my parents.
He drew me into his side. It was a possessive move that both confused me and turned me on. “Figured I’d take Naomi and Waylay to look for a ride,” he said.
Dad harrumphed.
“I get to come too?” Waylay asked, climbing up on her knees on the barstool.
“Well, since it’s our car, you have to help me decide,” I told her.
“Let’s get a motorcycle!”
“No,” my mother and I answered together.
“Well, I’m getting one as soon as I’m old enough.”
I closed my eyes, trying to ward off all the catastrophes that rolled through my mind like a high school driver’s ed filmstrip. “I’ve change
d my mind. You’re grounded until you’re thirty-five.”
“I don’t think you can legally do that,” Waylay said.
“Sorry, Witty. I’m with the kid on this one,” Stef said, leaning on his elbows next to her at the island. He broke a piece of bacon in half and handed one piece to my niece.
“Gotta vote with Way,” Knox said, squeezing my shoulder, one of those sort-of smiles dancing at the corners of his lips. “You can only ground her until she’s eighteen.”
Waylay punched a fist into the air victoriously and took a bite of bacon.
“Fine. You’re grounded until you’re eighteen. And no fair ganging up on me,” I complained.
“Uncle Stef,” Waylay said, her eyes going wide and solemn. “This is the best bacon I’ve ever had in my life.”
“I told you,” Stef said triumphantly. He slapped a hand onto the counter. The dogs, mistaking the noise for a knock, raced to the front door in a fit of barking.
“Got some news,” Liza announced. “Nash is coming home.”
“That’s awfully soon, isn’t it?” I asked. The man had two bullet holes in him. It seemed like that deserved more than a few days in the hospital.
“He’s going stir-crazy cooped up in there. He’ll do better at home,” Liza predicted.
Knox nodded in agreement.
“Well, that means his place will need a good cleaning. Can’t have germs getting in bullet wounds now, can we?” Mom said as if she knew people who got shot every day.
“Probably need some food too,” Dad chimed in. “Bet everything in his fridge is rotten. I’ll start a list.”
Liza and Knox exchanged confounded looks. I grinned.