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?”

to have fingerprints, babe.”

“Not today.”

He laughed.

“We earned this, Elle.”

“We did.”

I looked at the white seats.

“No food or drinks in here.”

“Am I ever going to drive it?”

“I’ll check the paperwork,” I teased.

For a few minutes, everything felt light.

Then gravel crunched behind us.

Jake’s sedan rolled into the driveway.

He climbed out and circled the crossover continue reading …