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She twirled spaghetti onto her fork. “And what something did you do?”
“I might have talked to Mary.”
“Joel, no.”
“And I might have told her we’re married.”
She eyed him.
“I’ll fix it,” he promised.
“Yes, you will.” She swallowed a forkful of spaghetti. “Oh, wow. This is jar sauce? Mr. Lattimore, I am impressed.”
“Impressed enough to forgive me?”
“Nope. You probably just opened up a can of worms. It won’t be long before this gets back to Curtis’ grandmother.”
“I’ll fix it with her too,” he said. “Give me her address.”
She eyed him again. “No.”
“It’s just to talk.”
“No.”
“I won’t even threaten to kill her.”
“Wait, you threatened to kill Mary?”
He squinted. “Did I?”
“How about we leave it alone for now? If something arises,” she tapped her chest, “I’ll handle it before you get us kicked off the island.”
“You could always come to D.C.,” he suggested. “Come stay with your husband.”
“Maybe. I do miss him when he’s gone.”
“Shh, for one second?”
She looked toward the bedrooms. “Is it Theo?”
“No, it’s my heartbeat, spelling out your nam—”
She smacked him with a pillow.
“Spelling out your n—”
She smacked him again.
“Woman, let me finish.”
“Besides threatening to kill innocent older women,” she set the pillow on her other side in the event she’d need it again, “what else did you do today?”
“Nearly die,” he said.
“Joel, you didn’t even have them a full day. It’ll be easier next time, trust me. Parenting is like a muscle.”
He pinned her with a glare, and she pressed her lips together to hold in a laugh.
