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PERLA

I flipped down the passenger-side visor and opened the mirror, studying my makeup and reviewing the damage. My lipstick was shot to hell, so I opened my purse and withdrew the spare tube I kept there for emergencies.

Grant, who hadn’t said a word since we left the diner, gunned my SUV up the highway’s on-ramp.

I glanced at his handsome profile. “Okay, what? You just going to punish me with silence? You clearly have something you want to say.”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“Saved someone’s life? I know, terrible of me.” I twisted the bottom of the tube, pushing out the pale-mauve color.

“I thought it was supercool,” Sophie chimed in from the back seat. “I’m going to tell all my friends and put it in my journal.”

“You are not going to tell all of your friends,” Grant instructed. “What your mother did was wrong.”

“Oh, please.” I rolled the color onto my lips. “It was a necessary evil.”

“It wasn’t. You could have done all of that without telling anyone you were a doctor.”

“I didn’t tell them that. They assumed.”

“You raised your hand when they asked if anyone was a doctor. And then, when the ambulance arrived, you were giving them instructions! You told them you were a neurosurgeon from Green Bay.”

“Whatever. I was having some fun. She was in the clear by then. Why does it matter if I fibbed a little?”

“‘A little’? Perla, you don’t know jack about medicine outside of that medical drama you watch.”

I pressed my lips together, setting the color.

“If you want to pretend to be a lawyer and argue with a stranger about constitutional rights, fine—but this is taking your games too far. What if she had died, Perla? Or what if there had been a real health professional there? Someone who had called you on your bullcrap?”

“There wasn’t a complete set of teeth in that building,” I said dryly. “You think there were doctors eating at that shithole?”

“Swear jar!” Sophie sang out. “Mom, you owe me a dollar.”

I ignored her. “You’re just mad because they all clapped.”

“I’m mad that you preened. And you let them buy our lunch. We should have bought their lunch—hell, the whole restaurant’s lunch—for having to be pawns in your stupid little game.”

“Swear jar!” Sophie clapped. “Dad, you too!”

“This is ridiculous.” I capped the lipstick and tossed it back into my purse. “I did something nice for someone. I don’t deserve to be treated like a criminal for it.”

Grant’s jaw worked as he changed lanes to pass a slow car. He stayed silent for a minute, and when that one minute stretched into two, I reached down and fished my wallet out of my purse. After unzipping the white leather satchel, I withdrew a five-dollar bill and passed it back to Sophie. “Give us a credit for the next few, will you?”

“You got it.” She beamed at me and folded the bill in half, then quarters, and stuck it in her journal.

“So ...” I checked my watch and did a quick calculation of how long it would take us to get home. “What do you guys think about dessert at Café Perla and then a movie night in the theater?”

Sophie let out a whoop of approval, and I glanced over at Grant. If there was a key to my husband’s heart, it was carved out of labors of love and family time. He had spent an insane amount of money on the theater room in the basement, and movie nights were an easy shortcut around his anger. His fury would weaken with a few hours of quality time with Sophie, capped off by a steamy session between the sheets. I’d pay that penance. It was worth it for the moment when the diner had burst into cheers, everyone’s eyes on me.

Saving a life had been thrilling. Too bad it couldn’t compare with the inverse.