“My dad owns every law firm in this province,” the lawyer’s daughter laughed after ramming her brand-new Tesla into my old Subaru

the ingredients I’d laid out.

“Dad,” she said solemnly, “I think we should cut the pepperoni into little hearts. For the cheese.”

“That is a level of culinary ambition I deeply respect,” I said.

She grinned.

“Why did the lady come back?” she asked as I pulled the dough from the fridge.

“Because sometimes,” I said, dusting the counter with flour, “people continue reading …