I’m already apologizing before I even pull the car into my driveway. “That’s Tyler’s bike in the yard. I’m sorry about that. If I told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times to put the damn thing away.”
Beside me in the passenger seat, Greg laughs. “I hear you. Sometimes I think most of my day is telling kids to put things back where they belong. Do they listen?”
“No,” we both say at the same time, which sets up snickering.
I turn off the engine and open the driver’s side door only to step on a handful of green army figures when I get out of the car. I kick them away and they strike the fence like tiny shots of artillery. “s**t. Watch your step. He has this place booby-trapped.”
“Kids,” Greg groans. “Gotta love them.”
“Yeah, right?” I grin and shake my head, stepping around Tyler’s
