Page 196 of The Vacation Mix-Up
I challenge it like I always do. “Veronica.”
Her eyes narrow into harrowing slits, and she damn well clocks me over the head with her open palm.
I playfully clock her back, and we both call out, “Mom!” like petulant children, then burst into laughter.
“Don’t hit girls,” she says, getting in a second whack before jumping to her feet.
“Goose and gander, remember?”
“Not the same thing.”
She’s right; it’s not, but I huff all the same.
“Riley!” Mom calls out. “Get your dancing butt out here now.”
I groan.
Roni shoots me a cocky grin. “She’s gonna want a demonstration.”
Groaning again, I hang my head. “Yeah, I know.”
After Mom insistsI teach her the Irish dancing steps that crowned me champion—which I pretty much make up on the fly—we sit down and eat dinner. I fill them in onmostof the details of my vacation: the places I visited, the ship, about Riles’s mother, and what Riles does for a living. And after scarfing down the best Shoofly pie in the history of Shoofly pies, I can barely keep my eyes open.
“He sounds like a piggy,” Poppy says, poking my cheek, prompting my eyes to shoot open.
I blink her into focus, her face mere inches from mine. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do.” She snorts a few times and giggles.
Tickling her ribs, I move her off my lap, stand, and stretch. “Sorry, but I need some shut-eye.”
Roni nudges my shoulder with hers. “Yeah, I guess you would.”
I give her a playful shove.
“So, should I expect you at the shop tomorrow?” she asks.
Yawning, I nod and stretch again. “I found a lot of inspiration in Europe, and I can’t wait to get started.”
“Good.” She kisses her fingertips and presses them onto Dad’s portrait that’s sitting on top of my mantle. “We’ve missed you.”
I’ve missed them and the workshop too, and I’m itching to pick up my tools and tell Dad all about the furniture I can’t wait to design and build.
“But,” Roni adds, “you’re newfound inspiration may have to wait.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Mrs. Parberry.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out long and slow. “What’s she done now?”
“She brought in her Chippendale stool. Split the Cabriole leg.”
“She stood on it, didn’t she?”
Roni winces.
“I told her not to stand on it, damn it.”
