The next morning (afternoon, technically), Deb grabbed her phone before she even blinked the sleep out of her eyes.
Her heart skipped a beat at the first message on the screen.
Cookies all gone. One perfectly cleaned and polished screwdriver on the garage floor. Dad happy but VERY curious. Meet me for brunch in town?
She sat up, giggling so hard she could barely manage to type.
Forget it, my friend. I’ll meet you at the garage in an hour. And I’m bringing the cookies this time!
