It was the end of a long day. Charles was due home shortly; the house was clean and dinner was in the oven. Darcy sat on the sofa, sipping a glass of chablis and enjoying the song that had just come on the radio.
Cherise glanced up from her book, noticing her mother’s foot-tapping. “Mother, you have absolutely no rhythm,” she said.
Darcy didn’t miss a beat. “If I did, you wouldn’t have been born,” she shot back.