Cade: Alright.

Willa: I’m getting dressed for the day. Panties? CHECK.

Cade: Too much information.

Willa: Luke is now awake.

Cade: Oh good.

Willa: He peed.

Cade: The bed?

Willa: No. In the toilet. Sounded like a big one. Like when Austin Powers comes out of being frozen or whatever.

Cade: Why are you telling me this?

Willa: Just keeping you apprised of *everything we do!!!*

Cade: I already regret telling you that.

Willa: Oh, I’m just getting started.

Cade: Willa.

Willa: Remember that time you BEGGED me to stay?

* * *

“Let’s just put some back in the bag!” Luke says, standing on a chair beside me at the kitchen counter as we stare into the bowl of pancake mix.

The pancake mix that is now more chocolate chips than batter. I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty sure this ratio is off. I forgot that children’s motor skills aren’t super refined and handing Luke a bag of chocolate chips to put in might not have been the most strategic plan I’ve come up with in my life.

“Dude. We can’t put them back in.”

He shrugs, not looking sad about it. “I guess we’ll just have to eat them.”

I try not to laugh. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he did it on purpose. “Guess so.”

We move his chair over to the stove, and I read him the riot act about hot elements, telling him that his dad will bury me in a hay field somewhere if I let him get burned.

He giggles and tells me I’m hilarious.

I’ve never felt cooler than I do hanging out with a five-year-old.

Especially when he sits across from me at the table, pats his belly with sticky chocolate fingers and exclaims, “You might be better at cooking than my dad!”

I point my fork at him. “I cannot wait to tell him that.”

His little blue eyes go comically wide. “You can’t tell him that. He’ll be sad.”

“Don’t stress, little man,” I reply, trying not to melt over how sweet it is that he’s so worried about his dad. “Your dad will be able to handle the loss.”

He sighs deeply and gazes at me expectantly. “What now?”

“Anything you want.” I grab my plate as he picks up his and hands it to me.

“Anything?”

I peer down at him, one brow shifting up. “Almost anything.”

“One of the kids at school said that he and his dad drove really fast down the back roads and threw heads of lettuce out the window and watched them explode on the road.”

I stare at the little boy, all earnest and genuine. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what majorly hillbilly shit he just asked me to do.

Goddamn, small towns are weird.

“It’s day one. Are you trying to get me fired?”