Chapter Eight
When Piper returns after seeing her dad off, we set to cleaning up from dinner. There are no leftovers—another testament to Gina’s skills.
Fifteen minutes later, everything is scrubbed clean, rinsed, and left to air-dry on the counter. With a relieved sigh, Piper and I nestle into my couch and kick our shoes off. Her head falls to my shoulder, and her arms encircle my waist.
“That went well,” I say.
“I told you my dad would love you,” she says. “But did you listen? Noooooo.”
I chuckle. “He’s quite a character, your father.”
“He’s a Scotsman,” she says, affecting a convincing approximation of her dad’s accent. “They—”
“—practically invented it,” we say in unison, then laugh.
I pull her closer. “Up for a movie?”
“Sure.”
I grab the TV remote from the cushion next to me
