Then Brooke ruined it. “You’re deliberately trying to upset her, Rupert. Just leave.”
I pulled the heavy oak door open. The biting wind rushed into the warm foyer. “It’s thirty degrees out there. I would absolutely loathe for anyone in this family to experience a moment of discomfort.”
We walked out into the biting chill, the heavy door clicking shut behind us.
We claimed a vinyl booth in the corner. Owen ordered a double bacon cheeseburger. Because, as far as I was concerned, being ostracized by your own bloodline legally qualified dessert as breakfast.
I didn’t order an entree.
At exactly 8:58 PM, we pulled into our driveway.
At 9:06 PM, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. A text message from Mom.
The heat just stopped working. Call your guy.
I stared at the glowing pixels on the screen. I didn’t chuckle. I didn’t merely smile. A deep, seismic wave of laughter erupted from my chest.
