“Aha!” “What?” “Nothing,” I said brightly, hopping off my stool. “I’m going to clean up in the back.” “You’ve never been this excited about cleaning before,” he observed with squinty-eyed suspicion. “What are you really doing?” “Cleaning.” I slid away from him. “You know, scrubbing … things. You wouldn’t like it.” “Uh-huh.” Standing, he followed me. “You look guiltier than a kid with an empty cookie jar.” “You’re imagining things.”
