Chapter 7

Dean’s POV

Marie comes down the stairs like the house is on fire, one shoe on, hopping to get the other one, a blazer half-buttoned over a top that doesn't match it. She nearly clips the doorframe on her way into the dining room, her bag sliding off one shoulder before she hitches it back up with an elbow.

"I'm late, I'm late, don't talk to me," she says, to nobody in particular, grabbing a piece of toast off Dad's plate without asking.

"Well, good morning to you too," Dad says, grinning at her over his coffee.

"Morning, sweetheart," Diane says from the other end of the table. "You look nice."

"Interview. Eleven o'clock. I have to be presentable and employed by then or I'm moving back to Ohio out of spite."

I don't look up from my own coffee, but I'm watching her in every way that doesn't involve my eyes. "You've got jam on your sle