Aunt May settled back into her chair, an elegant picture of calm composure, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well,” she began, “since we’re all having such a lovely morning, why don’t you enlighten me, Caelin? How, exactly, did we end up here, with you tied to Sir Panics-a-Lot over there?”
Caelin, still glaring daggers at the flower-battered SUV, sighed heavily. “Do you want the long version or the sarcastic cliff notes?”
“Oh, no, dear,” Aunt May replied with a wry smile. “You’re not skimping on me today. We have all the time in the world, and I’m feeling particularly nosy.”
Resigned, Caelin picked up her tea and took a deliberate sip, bracing herself. “Fine. Here goes.” She launched into the tale, starting with Samuel’s misguided attempt to steal her car, moving through Mitch’s
