“When are you finally going to move out?”

Chloe stopped pushing her green beans around.

Her head tipped up, dark hair sliding over her shoulder as she watched her father.

Caleb pressed his tongue into the gap of his missing front tooth, his little hand falling away from the bread basket.

“The casita has to be painted before October,” Renee said, her voice sinking into that clipped administrative register.

“We’ve got contractors coming on the fourteenth to measure the square footage for built-in desks.”