““Knock-knock.” Gina poked her head in the door. “Come on in,” Jones said. “We’ve got all our clothes on for a change. Oh, wait, it’s you who gets it on in the—” “Okay,” Gina said. “Am I ever going to live this down?” “Eventually,” Molly said. “But Max singing you old Elvis songs over the walkie-talkie? Honey, that’s going to be impossible to kill.” “I think it’s sweet,” Jones told her. “The singing or the kitchen tabling?” she asked. “Both,” he said. “Seriously, Gina. He’s all right.””
