My brother-in-law borrowed my brand-new crossover, trashed it like a garbage bin, and refused to cover the detailing costs—then had the nerve to call me that night, yelling, “How dare you?”

”

He rolled his eyes and obeyed.

“No food. No drinks. Nobody else drives it. You bring it back by nine tomorrow morning.”

He raised two fingers.

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

Jake took the keys.

Timothy smiled as though the problem had been solved.

As the crossover disappeared down the street, it didn’t feel like my husband had asked me to be continue reading …