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His hip caught the edge of the table as he turned to run to Art, sending his and Viv’s cups flying.

Viv shrieked as water cascaded onto her lap, soaking her pants. “I am so sick of being wet!” she cried, jumping to her feet and stomping to the staircase ladder to her room without deigning to greet her father, who was flipping through a stack of mail and barely noticed.

I stared at my suddenly watered-down spaghetti with a sigh. Shaking off an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, I folded my napkin neatly, put it on the table, and got to my feet.

“Tag. You’re it,” I said to Art, tapping him on the shoulder as I passed him on the way to the front door.

“What?” he asked, looking up from the mail with a bewildered look on his face.

“Dinner’s on the stove. There’s a watery mess on the table. Viv is in a mood. And Merry needs a bath. I’m going to work. Enjoy your children,” I said, without slowing down.

“Wait, Meg!” Art protested. I turned at the top of the stairs and glanced at him. “Are you mad?” he asked, frowning.

I sighed again. “Nope. Just fried. And I have a ton of work waiting for me, which I can go do now that you’re finally home.” There was nothing else to add, so I resumed my descent, thinking ahead to which cookies I wanted to list that week.

Viv had filmed me painting some of the teacup cookies, and the internet had lost its collective mind. We had priced them exorbitantly high, and somehow they’d still sold out the instant I listed them for sale on the website.

After watching me run myself ragged trying to meet demand for a few days, Art had gently suggested that maybe part of the appeal was their rarity, and I could capitalize on that while preserving my sanity by listing only two dozen a week and doubling the price.

As ludicrous as that sounded to me, the cookies had still sold out instantly and demand had only increased. I was just glad that I could take my time painting the designs, which made me feel a little less awful about charging an arm and a leg for something destined to be eaten.

My stomach growled as I reached the sidewalk. Miraculously, the rain had stopped, and a few stars peeked through the momentary break in the clouds.

I took it as a sign that I should take advantage of the dry spell to walk down the street for a warm meal that was neither pasta-based nor drenched.

“One of those nights, aye?” Shona asked as I ran into her on my way out of the fish and chips shop. The smell of hot salty fries had already greatly improved my mood, and I laughed, shrugging.

“What can I say? Some nights just require fried food,” I explained.

“Och, din I ken!” She laughed as she stepped around me to go in as I was coming out. “That’s nae enough for all four of ye. Where’s the rest of yer wee fam?” she asked, eyeing my small bag.

I scrunched up my face and shot her a wry glance. “At home. I left Art to deal with the chaos.”

“Och! Trouble in paradise? Married life not treatin’ you so well, aye?” Shona teased.

“We’re not married,” I replied, frowning.

She laughed. “The way ye’re shacked up, ye may as well be.”

Her words echoed uncomfortably in my head as I walked back, munching on my fries. I reached the door to the shop just as the rain started up again, and ducked into the warm, quiet space gratefully.

The peace of the empty room wrapped itself around me like a comforting hug, and I exhaled fully for the first time all day.

Art had headed out early for a meeting in the city, leaving me to get Merry to school and get Viv set up with her schoolwork for the day. The few customers who had ventured out in the rain had been cranky and only there for some of Fiona’s specially blended teas. I’d sold all of three cookies and was finally seeing the advantage of having a website for outside orders. It had been a frustrating day, and I was glad to finally have a moment to myself.

When I ran out of fries and fish, I washed my hands and laid out everything I needed to decorate a double batch of teacup cookies. Then, with a happy sigh, I lost myself in my work.

“How’s the most beautiful woman in all of Scotland?” Art asked, startling me into dropping my paintbrush. “I’m sorry!” he cried. “I thought you’d heard me come in.”

I shook my head. “No, sorry. I was in the zone. What time is it?” I asked, looking around for my phone.

“Almost eleven,” Art said, pulling my phone out of his pocket. “You left this upstairs.”

I pursed my lips and nodded, feeling sheepish. “That tracks.”

“You were in quite a hurry to get out of there.” He threw up his hands to stop me when I opened my mouth to protest. “No argument from me! I get it. Monsters, the both of them,” he said, the affectionate grin on his face taking the sting out of the words.

“You said it, not me,” I replied with a lot less warmth.