"If you say one word, Alexandra Moreau, I swear that I'll lose my temper."
Biting my tongue, I survey the damage in my kitchen. To say that it looks like an explosion happened is an understatement.
There are dirty dishes covering every surface, often sitting in a pile of goo that I don't even want to try to figure out.
Dusty flour hangs in the air, making it an adventure to breathe, and I'd rather not talk about what's dripping from the ceiling.
"Seriously, Alex," she replies, "just turn around and go back outside with Michael and the kids. Do
let her in here until I've cleaned up."
"All right, my love, but on one condition." I grin when she quirks a brow at me, looking far too much like she's swallowing back a scream.
"You tell me the story of what happened when all is said and done."
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