“I have two steaks.” He eyed me for a long moment, clearly weighing up his options, before blowing out a frustrated breath. “Get the frying pan.” “Yay.” Clapping my hands in delight, I did a little shimmy dance before bouncing off in the direction of the cupboard where Mam kept the pots and pans. “I like my meat well done.” “You’ll take your meat whatever way I give it to you,” Joey grumbled, rummaging in my fridge for what he needed. “This doesn’t mean anything, Molloy,” he added. “You didn’t win this round.” I threw my head back and laughed. “I always win, Joe.”
