Dax stood on the other side of the table, one hand holding a bracelet, the other fanned across the tabletop.
“You’re not getting this back!” He teased. Her face scrunched as she filtered through her options.
Casually, Mable leaned back against the fridge, “Fine, whatever. It’s not important anyways.”
Dax deadpanned, lifting the colorful accessory to float above the garbage to his left. Jumpi...