Page 65 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“All right, Grandma. So, are you gonna tell me what you cooked up for us?”

“Okay, well, I thought I would start with something simple. So, this is just a basic marinara sauce and noodles.” I grab a teaspoon of the sauce and hold it out for Paige to taste.

She takes the spoonful in her mouth, and her face puckers up, her eyes squinting, as she swallows. “That’s disgusting, London!”

“It is not!”

“It is! It tastes like an ashtray. I think you burned it.”

“That’s mean,” I protest, dipping the spoon back into the pot to stir some more.

“It’s the truth!” Paige argues back.

Taking the spoon from the sauce, I point it toward Paige. “You could at least pretend to like it.”

A glob of marinara from the spoon splatters onto Paige’s new suit jacket.

“Uh,” she gasps loudly, her hands covering her mouth in shock.

“I’m so—”

Before I can finish my apology, Paige digs her fingers into the noodles in the strainer in the sink, and she lobs a huge handful at my face. The slimy pasta slithers down my cheeks.

“Rude!” I dip the spoon in the sauce again and launch its red contents toward Paige. It’s a direct hit to her chest.

Before I realize what’s happening, the kitchen is filled with flying noodles, red sauce zooming through the air, and many high-pitched shrieks.

“Stop it!”

“You stop it!”

“You’re such a hooker!” Paige yells.

“You’re a hooker,” I retort.

Suddenly, the two of us are lying on the tiled floor, surrounded by the marinara massacre, laughing hysterically.

“Look! Spaghetti angels!” Paige exclaims as her hands and feet start moving out and back in, like she’s making a snow angel.

Lying on my back, I start to move my arms and legs in the same motion. My sides ache with laughter as tears roll down my sticky cheeks.

Eventually, our momentary insanity ceases, and the two of us stand up to admire our angels.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a better spaghetti marinara angel.” Paige nods in approval.

“I concur.” Looking to her, I start to giggle again as I take in her appearance.

She’s covered in red splotches, and there are entire noodles draped over her shoulders and entangled in her hair.

“You owe me a new outfit,” Paige says.

“I do. I totally do. We’ll go shopping this weekend.” I chuckle.

“I don’t want to clean this up.” She sighs.

“I’ll hire a cleaning company.”

“That’s not very responsible of us.” Paige raises a brow while scrunching up her lips.

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