It’s the longest f*****g dinner of my life. Not only did I manage to burn the stir-fry, but then the pizza guy was late and the twins didn’t want to go to sleep. It should’ve been frustrating—and it sort of was—but I kept finding myself more amused.
Mostly because Parker made it amusing.
She had the pizza place on the phone before I even realized the stir-fry was inedible, talked the twins into an extra book if they got in bed, and when I finally follow her downstairs to the tack room, I realize my earlier exhaustion is gone. I feel energized.
Because of her.
Parker hops up on the desk, watching me as I double-check that the tack room’s door is locked. She tugs at the ends of her hair like she can’t quite believe how short it is.
“What made you cut it?” I ask. I’d liked her hair long,
