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“I do.”
“I’ll be ready in five,” she says. She hops out of the swing and hurries into the house, passing Mom and Weston as she goes.
Mom’s eyes follow her inside and then come back to me.
“We’re going to dinner,” I blurt out.
Mom grins, and Weston’s eyebrows rise.
“How did that happen?” he asks.
“I have no idea.”
