I waited for him to smile.
He didn’t.
« You stayed here two weeks, Mary. » He shifted against the counter. « Mom. I mean Mom. »
I almost laughed.
Because 12 hours earlier, I had been standing at that same stove making Derek chicken and rice while holding his son’s pacifier between two fingers because the baby kept spitting it onto the floor.
« You stayed here two weeks, Mary. Mom. I mean Mom. »
Now apparently I was a hotel guest.
« Derek, are you serious? »
He gave a helpless little half-smile. « We’re not made of money. »
His tone was calm enough to make it worse.
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