Addison
I let out a slow, calming breath and then forced myself to hold in my squeak of glee when I opened the door.
“Guess what?” I swung my arms wide, careful not to fling the bag of takeout in my hand across the room.
Lara turned around, midway through stirring whatever was in the skillet on the stove.
I frowned, my shoulders slumping. “I brought home dinner. I thought it was my night.”
Lara shrugged, shooting me a half smile. “Figured you’d be busy, so I made chicken marsala.”
I pushed the door closed behind me, practically trembling with excitement.
“But I’m guessing that’s not what you came in here all fired up to tell me?” Lara said.
I skirted around the couch, still pulled out from the night before, and set the bag of food on the counter. “No. It’s not.” The squeak I’d been
