I’d led her to our bed and she’d been asleep before her head hit the pillow.

She trudged out of the bathroom. “Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

“Absolutely.”

I made Aiden’s protein shake and left it on the island instead of taking it down to him. Violet helped me measure ingredients. Flour dusted the counter and the floor by the time we were done, along with the residue of an egg I’d swiped up right away.

Seeing my kitchen dirty like this filled me with a sense of rightness. And that gave me pause.

Aiden bounded up the stairs, wearing his usual workout gear plus a shirt, since we had company. He smiled at us. Lines of fatigue fanned around his eyes. He spotted his shake and beelined toward us.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.” I peeked at him while pretending to watch Violet whisk the eggs. I loved seeing him after he worked out. Sweaty. Casual. His thoughts weren’t as rigidly guarded. He usually smiled easier, laughed more. But this morning his shoulders hung lower, and when he closed his eyes to chug his shake, he left them closed a few heartbeats longer.

“Did you get enough sleep?” I asked.

“Yeah,” was all he said. He put his empty shaker in the dishwasher. “I’m gonna shower. Let me know when breakfast is ready?”

Violet bounced on her toes. “I’ll make you a special pancake, Uncle Aiden.”

Another fatigue-lined smile. “Thanks, Petal.”

She giggled. “Welcome, Bud.”

The nickname was cute. They’d come up with it last night when Violet asked why people called her dad Mattie instead of Matt. Could I be called Violetie? Aiden had countered that nicknames could also be a play on a name. Like Flower, Petal, or Bud for Violet. She’d lobbied hard for Petal. Then started calling Aiden Bud.

With her help, making pancakes and eggs took longer than normal. Aiden hadn’t come out of the bedroom yet. I wiped counters while Violet swept. Aiden still wasn’t out.

“Do you mind getting silverware and napkins? I’ll get Aiden.”

Our bedroom door was closed. His voice drifted through the door. “I get it.”

I hated to bug him, but I’d just signal him somehow that breakfast was ready. I cracked the door. He was on the edge of the bed, his head in his hand while he listened. His damp hair was pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it a few times since he’d gotten out of the shower.

“No, I know, but I’m going to be objective.” He glanced at me. The resounding pressure in his eyes faded, but didn’t disappear. “Yes, I’ll get those too.” His shoulders went rigid. “I remember what happened, Grams. All I’m doing is compiling numbers. Yes, I know we’re on the downswing of a boom.”