" Can I tell you a funny story?” Gina asked. She didn’t wait for him to say yes or no. “It’s about, well . . . You know the whole age-issue thing?”
“The age-issue thing,” Max repeated. “Are you sure this is a funny story?”
“Does it still bother you?” she asked. “Being a little bit older than me? And it’s more funny weird than funny ha-ha.”
“Twenty years isn’t exactly ‘a little bit,’” he said.
“Tell that to a paleontologist,” she countered.
Okay, he’d give her that one. “Just tell me the story.”
“Once upon a time, when Jones first came to Kenya,” Gina said, “I didn’t know who he was. Molly didn’t tell me, and he came to our tent for tea, and . . . Maybe this isn’t even a funny weird story. Maybe it’s more of an ‘I’m an asshole’ story, because I immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was there because he was all hot for me. It never occurred to me—it never even crossed my narrow little mind—that he might’ve been crushing on Molly. And she’s only maybe ten years older than he is. I remember sitting there after I figured it out, and thinking, shoot. People do make assumptions based on age. Max wasn’t just being crazy.” She smiled at him. “Or at least not crazier than usual. I guess . . . I just wanted to apologize for mocking you all those times.”
“It’s okay,” Max said. “I just keep reminding myself that love doesn’t always stop to do the math.” He looked at her. “I’m trying to talk myself into that. How’d I sound? Convincing?”
“That was pretty good.” They sat in silence for a moment, then Gina spoke again. “Maybe I could get a T-shirt that says, ‘I’m not his daughter, I’m his wife.’”
Max nodded as he laughed. “Yet still you mock me. "

― Suzanne Brockmann , Breaking Point (Troubleshooters, #9)