"Why are we rushing back home? We could have gotten gelato after lunch," Dad says, sounding baffled as I pull him up the driveway.

"Gelato? It's winter, Dad. Let's go home and have a hot chocolate," I say, walking fast in my knee length black boots.

"But we always get gelato after lunch"

"God we're so late," I mutter under my breath.

"Huh?" Dad asks.

"Oh, I just meant it's annoying that we were late to get to the restaurant. How bad was the ...