It didn't take Grams long to notice the car's unusually silent atmosphere as she settled into the passenger seat with a little help from Warrick. When she shot her grandson a questioning look, he simply nodded toward the back seat where Sara sat with their son. The seven-year-old's arms were folded tightly across his chest, his mouth set in an angry scowl.

"Matt," Grams tried carefully, "what's the matter, baby?"

Her great-grandson glared at his mother, who bit her lip and looked away, trying very hard not to laugh.

As Warrick pulled away from the curb, Grams turned to Sara and winked, playfully asking, "Are you tormenting your poor boy again?"

Not giving his mother a chance to respond, Matthew spoke up.

"She made me dress up!" he cried indignantly, making it sound as though he was being tortured.

"You look very handsome" Grams said diplomatically, admiring his outfit. He wore a blue striped button down shirt, pressed khaki pants, and black dress shoes. It was the kind of outfit that Warrick had hated when he was Matthew's age, and she suspected that that was exactly the problem. Even his hair looked like it had recently seen a comb and hairbrush.

"I look stupid."

Sara sighed, the mark of a parent who was fast growing weary with the current line of conversation. "Don't you want to look nice for your first concert?" she asked him. "You'll look so grown up, standing up there in front of all those people. Your girlfriend won't know what to think."

It was the wrong thing to say. The tips of Matthew's ears went pink.

"Alicia's not my girlfriend!" he huffed angrily.

Nobody said anything for a moment, and Grams jumped on the opportunity to try to diffuse his bad mood.

Though she already knew the answer, she asked, "Are any of your friends in the chorus with you?"

A pair of small brown eyes met hers as Matthew answered, "Zach and Bobby are, and they're both gonna be wearing jeans."

"Their mothers are not going to let them wear jeans to the concert"

"How do you know?"

Before Sara could answer, Warrick jumped in.

"Matt," he corrected sternly, "don't sass your mother."

"Sorry, mom" Matthew apologized, looking chagrined. He was silent for a moment before insisting, "But they're gonna make fun of me!"

"I'll make you a deal," Sara finally told her son, giving his leg a gentle squeeze. "If Zach and Bobby aren't dressed up like you, you can choose what we have for dinner for three nights next week."

Unnoticed by Matthew, Warrick and Grams shared a knowing smile. She'd used the same trick on him a few times when he was younger. At least, she had until he'd finally won and she'd been faced with the prospect of eating frozen pizza and Kraft macaroni and cheese every night for a week.

"Really?" the boy's eyes widened eagerly. He clasped Sara's hand in his and gave it an enthusiastic shake. "Deal!" he proclaimed happily.

"If they are dressed up," Sara continued, watching Matthew's face fall a bit, "I'm taking as many pictures as I want tonight without complaint."

He wrinkled his nose, considering, but finally offered his hand. "Deal"

"Okay," Sara said as she took it in hers and shook, sealing their agreement. She gave his stomach a poke. "Smile for me?"

He held out for a few seconds before cracking a grin when Sara's fingers didn't let up.

"Dad!" he howled between giggles, "Mom's tickling me!"

Warrick pulled the car into a parking space and glanced into his rearview mirror to see his wife and son breathless with laughter. Sara gave a yelp as Matthew started in on the ticklish area on her right side.

Grinning at Grams, he asked, "You see what I have to live with?"

Nodding, she smiled.