Eva’s laugh rang out like a pinging bell, and she squeezed Ruby’s hand before letting go. “Well, yes—but that’s exactly what I mean. If you really wanted Spencer to say these things for a recording, all you’d have to do is bat your eyes and ask him. He’d do it for you in a hot second.”

This was veering dangerously close to what Caleb had insinuated the other day, but Eva wasn’t done.

“Between you and me, you could probably get a lot more than that out of him, but you won’t, will you? Not the easy way, I mean. You’re going to earn Wheezy a spot just like everyone else—by putting in the time and doing the work.” Her smile deepened. “Spencer hates that about you. I mean, he likes it, obviously, but he also really, really hates it.”

“T minus five minutes!” came a shout from the next room. It was followed by the cheerfully bald-pated head of Eva’s husband popping through the doorway. Maury looked harassed but happy, especially once he caught sight of his wife. “You’d better down the last of that wine fast, my love. They’ve just discovered the box of finger paints we were hiding in the back of the coat closet.”

“Maury, you wretch! I told you to bury them under something heavy.”

“I did, but they’re like heat-seeking missiles. They can’t be stopped.” Maury turned his smile toward Ruby. “Hullo, Ruby. Sorry to cut your chat short, but a deal’s a deal. If I spend any more time with these three, I’m going to lose my hair. What’s left of it, anyway.”

He and Eva were so good-naturedly relaxed about everything that Ruby couldn’t help but return his smile. Someday, she wanted a house like this one. No one under this roof cared about appearances or trophies or how many calories were in that bottle of pinot grigio. They were so busy trying to keep everyone happy—and alive—that they didn’t have time for anything else.

“I’d argue for a few more minutes of girl time, but we should get Ruby out the door as fast as possible.” Eva slid out of her chair and took Ruby’s glass. With a wink, she tipped back the contents. “The longer she spends around the kids, the greater the chance she fakes her own death to get out of our bargain. You won’t believe it, Maury, but she’s offered to take the boys for a weekend. A whole weekend.”

Maury, who’d been about to drop a kiss on his wife’s forehead, paused in the middle of this comfortably romantic gesture. “What? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”