“I gazed down at the pale turkey in the roasting pan. “How will we know when it’s done?”“Right here.” Mark pointed out a little red plastic dot on the side of the bird. “That pops out when the internal temperature gets high enough.”“Okay.” I sighed dutifully and started squirting herb butter and white wine all over the turkey. “If you say so. You sure you don’t want to just hit the White Birch and let them deal with all this prep work?”“Don’t worry so much, sweetheart.” He rubbed my shoulders wi...th his strong, capable hands. “We’ll all pitch in and make dinner together. You, me, and the girls. Who knows? Maybe you and Taylor will end up bonding over the whole thing.”I had woken up drenched in sweat last night, dreaming that Taylor had managed to get me alone with the electric carving knife, but I just smiled sweetly and got back to the bird, which Mark had insisted on soaking in a gourmet sea salt brine that cost as much as a week’s worth of groceries.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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