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“In her house, where we should be.” A Freudian slip, if ever there was one. “I mean, we should be in our house.”
His son didn’t notice the mistake. “I was gonna ask her to come over tomorrow to see the pond and the animals.”
Close call. Mason sighed. “Right now, you need to go to bed, get ready for your soccer game tomorrow.”
“Aw, Dad, do I hafta play?” Garret dropped his arms and trudged on alone, his head hanging low. “I don’t like the guys on the team. And the coach is mean. Can’t I stay home?”
Back to the old routine, Mason thought, blanking out the memory of Nola’s mysterious gaze in the moonlight. Thank God.
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