Page 43 of Crew

ARON

The smellof scorched bread hit me as my eyes fluttered open.

Was I having a stroke?

I rolled over to see my husband, Drew, was still fast asleep. I immediately started to panic and shook him. “Wake up. I’m having a stroke.”

He groaned and flipped over to face me. “What?”

“I can smell burnt toast. I’m having a stroke.”

His eyes opened immediately, and I expected him to jump out of bed and call 911. Instead, he sighed. “You’re not having a stroke. I can smell it too. It’s probably just the girls making breakfast.”

“Or trying to burn down the house.” I climbed out of bed so I could make sure our eleven-year-old twin daughters weren’t about to make us homeless.

After putting on a pair of basketball shorts, I grabbed my cell and walked into the kitchen to see Reese and Jolene at the island, both of them on their phones, and both with orange juice in front of them. I beelined for the espresso machine.

“Morning,” I greeted them as I grabbed a mug to make myself a latte.

“Morning,” they both grumbled.

“Which one of you tried to catch the kitchen on fire?”

“Jolene,” Reese answered without skipping a beat.

“I did not try to catch anything on fire! It was just toast!” Jolene snapped.

I turned around and leaned against the counter, arms crossed as the fancy coffee machine made my drink.

Reese snorted. “You set the toaster to ‘cremation’.”

“It said dark!” Jolene waved her arms. “I thought that meant golden brown. Like restaurant toast. Why would anyone want it black? That’s a toaster flaw.”

“What made you even want toast? You two usually have cereal,” I wondered.

“We saw this thing on TikTok where you put peanut butter and marshmallows on it, then stick it back in the toaster,” Reese replied.

I blinked. “Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

“We … ah … did,” Jolene admitted. “It was supposed to get all melty and gooey. Like gourmet s’mores. But the marshmallows kind of ... bubbled over and exploded.”

Reese held up her phone. “I got a video. It’s actually pretty awesome.”

I took a long sip of my coffee, needing to maintain my cool, and eyed the half-charred, half-sticky mess still sitting on the counter. “You’re both grounded from the toaster.”

“You can’t ground someone from a toaster,” Jolene protested. “That’s not even a real sentence.”

“I just did.”

Reese glanced at her sister, then back at me. “Can we still use the air fryer?”

“No.”

“Microwave?”

“Only under supervision.”

They groaned in unison like I’d just told them the rest of summer was canceled.