We were supposed to be heading straight home, but somehow I ended up in front of a pet supply shop with Celestia tugging on my sleeve like a five-year-old who'd just spotted candy.
"Val—" I started.
"Husband, our daughter needs things," she cut in, already pushing the keys into my hand. "And my hand hurts, I can't possibly drive like this." She held up her wrist and pouted like she'd fractured it in battle.
I raised an eyebrow. "That same hand carried a bag full of textbooks all day."
"That was academic duty. This is steering. Completely different." She added a pout for good measure, and before I could argue, she was already buckled into the passenger seat, victorious. I sighed, but she was beaming as though she'd won the argument.
By the time we were in the car, she'd folded herself sideways in the passenger seat, chin propped on her hand, just watching me.
She didn't even pretend to look at the road. Her gaze burned into the side of my face like a spotlight.
