that for you?” She held out her hand for the garage door remote.
“You fancy yourself a bit of an expert with electronics, huh?”
“I don’t fancy myself an expert, I am one.” It was the truth, and she saw no reason to make light of her abilities in this instance.
Shrugging, Marissa relinquished the remote. “What the hey. It’s not like it’s working properly anyway.”
Jay pulled a tiny toolkit from her jeans’ pocket, selected a screwdriver, and began to disassemble the remote. She noted Marissa’s theatrical wince. “It’s quite a simple device,” she assured her. “It will be easy to find out what’s wrong with it.”
“Sorry to come across so anti,” Marissa said. “Mike—that’s Caro and Tyler’s dad—fancied himself a bit of a handyman. He was a whiz with computers, but anything else? Let’s just say it never ended well.”
The garage door creaked open to reveal Tyler leaning on a button by the internal door. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I took so long.”
His mother parked the vehicle and cut the engine. It died with a cough which didn’t bode well for it starting up again without a struggle. She got out of the car and slammed the door shut. “Bloody car,” she muttered. “Last thing I need right now is for it to give up the ghost.”
Tyler beckoned Jay inside. “Caro invited Jay for dinner,” he said to his mother. Hope that’s okay? he mouthed.
His mother hesitated, then gave a quick nod.
Jay pretended not to have seen the silent communication and ducked her head as though intent on the inner workings of the remote.
“And speaking of dinner—” Marissa sniffed the air. “Something smells good. What’re we having?”
“Spaghetti bolognaise,” Jay said, handing over the remote and pocketing her screwdriver.
“How did you—?” Tyler began.
Too late, she realized she’d done something out of the ordinary. A distraction was necessary. “It’s my favorite. Everyone knows what their favorite meal smells like. Try the remote now, Mrs. Davidson.”
Tyler’s mother jabbed viciously at the button and watched the garage door smoothly close without the usual jerking false starts. She blinked, pressed it again and watched it open back up in the same efficient manner. She turned to Jay with a delighted grin. “Gosh, thanks! I take it all back, you are an expert!”
“You’re welcome,” Jay said.
Tyler pried the remote from his mother’s hands and used it to close the garage door again before shoving it in her handbag. “C’mon you two. You can play with the remote and do the mutual admiration thing later. Inside and wash up! Pasta will be all gluggy if you don’t get a move on.”
“Hey, Tyler,” Caro screamed from the lounge. “Sounds like something’s boiling over!”
“Ah, crap! Not again.”
“Tyler!”
“Sorry, Mom,” he yelled over his shoulder as he raced off.
“Caro!” Jay heard him howl from the vicinity of the kitchen. “Couldn’t you have got off your sorry butt and turned the pasta down?”
“Not my turn to cook,” his sister yelled back. “Doing important stuff here.”
“Yeah. Sure. I know you’re watching music vids instead of doing your homework. Oooooh!” He wailed an impression of a popular singer. “Can you handle it? I don’t think you can handle it!”
Jay caught Marissa’s gaze. “Beyoncé Knowles.”
Marissa gave a full-body shudder. “I apologize in advance for my kids. Siblings. You know what it’s like.” Her gaze lingered on Jay’s shirt.
“I’m an only child,” Jay told her. “So this is…. This is a refreshing change.” She watched as Marissa seemed to shrug off her fascination with the borrowed shirt.
As a cop from a movie Jay had watched liked to say, “Dodged that bullet.” It could prove embarrassing for Tyler if his mother recognized the shirt and asked why Jay was wearing it. Jay
“You fancy yourself a bit of an expert with electronics, huh?”
“I don’t fancy myself an expert, I am one.” It was the truth, and she saw no reason to make light of her abilities in this instance.
Shrugging, Marissa relinquished the remote. “What the hey. It’s not like it’s working properly anyway.”
Jay pulled a tiny toolkit from her jeans’ pocket, selected a screwdriver, and began to disassemble the remote. She noted Marissa’s theatrical wince. “It’s quite a simple device,” she assured her. “It will be easy to find out what’s wrong with it.”
“Sorry to come across so anti,” Marissa said. “Mike—that’s Caro and Tyler’s dad—fancied himself a bit of a handyman. He was a whiz with computers, but anything else? Let’s just say it never ended well.”
The garage door creaked open to reveal Tyler leaning on a button by the internal door. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I took so long.”
His mother parked the vehicle and cut the engine. It died with a cough which didn’t bode well for it starting up again without a struggle. She got out of the car and slammed the door shut. “Bloody car,” she muttered. “Last thing I need right now is for it to give up the ghost.”
Tyler beckoned Jay inside. “Caro invited Jay for dinner,” he said to his mother. Hope that’s okay? he mouthed.
His mother hesitated, then gave a quick nod.
Jay pretended not to have seen the silent communication and ducked her head as though intent on the inner workings of the remote.
“And speaking of dinner—” Marissa sniffed the air. “Something smells good. What’re we having?”
“Spaghetti bolognaise,” Jay said, handing over the remote and pocketing her screwdriver.
“How did you—?” Tyler began.
Too late, she realized she’d done something out of the ordinary. A distraction was necessary. “It’s my favorite. Everyone knows what their favorite meal smells like. Try the remote now, Mrs. Davidson.”
Tyler’s mother jabbed viciously at the button and watched the garage door smoothly close without the usual jerking false starts. She blinked, pressed it again and watched it open back up in the same efficient manner. She turned to Jay with a delighted grin. “Gosh, thanks! I take it all back, you are an expert!”
“You’re welcome,” Jay said.
Tyler pried the remote from his mother’s hands and used it to close the garage door again before shoving it in her handbag. “C’mon you two. You can play with the remote and do the mutual admiration thing later. Inside and wash up! Pasta will be all gluggy if you don’t get a move on.”
“Hey, Tyler,” Caro screamed from the lounge. “Sounds like something’s boiling over!”
“Ah, crap! Not again.”
“Tyler!”
“Sorry, Mom,” he yelled over his shoulder as he raced off.
“Caro!” Jay heard him howl from the vicinity of the kitchen. “Couldn’t you have got off your sorry butt and turned the pasta down?”
“Not my turn to cook,” his sister yelled back. “Doing important stuff here.”
“Yeah. Sure. I know you’re watching music vids instead of doing your homework. Oooooh!” He wailed an impression of a popular singer. “Can you handle it? I don’t think you can handle it!”
Jay caught Marissa’s gaze. “Beyoncé Knowles.”
Marissa gave a full-body shudder. “I apologize in advance for my kids. Siblings. You know what it’s like.” Her gaze lingered on Jay’s shirt.
“I’m an only child,” Jay told her. “So this is…. This is a refreshing change.” She watched as Marissa seemed to shrug off her fascination with the borrowed shirt.
As a cop from a movie Jay had watched liked to say, “Dodged that bullet.” It could prove embarrassing for Tyler if his mother recognized the shirt and asked why Jay was wearing it. Jay
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