looked at Denise.
“No.”
I actually managed to say it.
“Denise, I’d rather not lend that one out. It belonged to my mother.”
She laughed as if I were joking.
“I’ll be careful. I only need it for one cake.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Oh, come on.”
She remained standing there.
My daughter Sophie was sitting on the porch steps watching the entire exchange.
And somehow, I heard myself say:
“Fine.”
I regretted it instantly.
Denise smiled.
“I’ll bring it back Saturday.”
“Please clean it first.”
“Obviously.”
Saturday morning, I
