Wyatt Winslow had called at noon to say Walter Winslow and Joanna Sawyer were coming over that afternoon, straight to the house.
Outside the Winslows' home.
While fumbling for her keys, Holly Winslow whispered to Mortimer Quincy, "Honey, you should go home. I'll call you tonight."
Mortimer Quincy mimicked her, whispering back, "Okay, go on in." As he spoke, he pinched her cheek. It felt nice and chubby.
He bent down, offering his cheek. "Honey, how about a goodbye kiss?"
"No way," Holly Winslow pouted, giving him a light push. "If someone sees, I'm dead meat."
Hearing her use that bit of slang, "dead meat," Mortimer Quincy couldn't help but chuckle. He patted her head fondly. "What do you mean, dead? Don't be silly."
"What are you two doing, standing at the door?" Wyatt Winslow's lips were pressed into a thin line as he watched them from the stairwell, his face stern.
His sudden voice made them both jump, and Mortimer Quincy's hand flinched.
