“I leaned it against a wall like a stick,” I mutter, annoyed.
“You leaned her against a wall like a man’s wife, Linwood. I saw the angle.”
And I lose it. A bubbled-up laugh gets all the way out.
His grin goes enormous. “There she is.”
I’m still laughing. I’m going to laugh until I cry if he doesn’t stop in the next thirty seconds, and I would die before I told him I don’t want him to stop.
He stops. He sets the stick down against the dresser with enormous tenderness, adjusts its angle, and pats the blade twice.
“Stay there, baby. I’m in a meeting.”
He turns to me with a full grin. I laugh again because he is ridiculous.
“Linwood. Hi.”
I swallow down my laughter, but I still have a smile. “Hi.”
“How are you?”
I bite my bottom lip, trying to contain myself. “I’m okay.”
He drops into my desk chair, still grinning. I can feel that I’m still smiling, and I can’t get my face to stop.
He pulls out his phone, opens the airline app. “Forward me the confirmation.”
I do. He books the same flight in under two minutes.
“Done.”
“That fast.”
“Linwood. I am a man who books flights for a living.”
“You are a man who flies on team charters.”
“I have an instinct for it. It’s a gift.”
He sets the phone on his knee. He’s not done, though. I can see it — his thumb is running along the edge of the case.
I wait.
“So, I bet you’ve already heard that the Ermingtons are flying in to join the Linwoods for Thanksgiving.”
I blink. “What?”
“Yeah.”
I’m going to be sick.
“Your dad?” I ask.
He nods. “And my mom.”
“At my parents’ house. For Thanksgiving.”
“Correct.”
