“She even ran Dad over in a golf cart,” Sammy blurts out.
“Dear, God.” She puts her hand to her chest. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Willow answers. “He sulked all night over it.”
Frances laughs, and I get the feeling that I’m going to like this woman.
“We’re practicing making fresh pasta so that Willow can cook dinner for her father on Sunday night,” I say.
“Really?” She looks between the two of us, impressed.
“You should come over,” I say. “The more the merrier. Willow is a fantastic cook.”
“I haven’t cooked anything yet,” Willow interrupts.
“I know, but you’re going to be a fantastic cook when I finish with you.”
Frances beams. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d be delighted.”
She looks back at the door. “Don’t let me hold up your fun. I’ll get going.”
We all follow her and she
