I grinned at him but even if he was being funny, the mother in me came right out.

“Being a fighter pilot is kind of a dangerous job, Cillian,” I shared hesitantly.

“I know!” he cried exuberantly, doing it sharing that danger was a big draw for that particular occupation.

I looked to Mickey, eyes wide.

He gave me one of his quick grins. “Not gonna talk him outta it, darlin’. Before he entered the highway to the danger zone, he wanted to be a firefighter, like his dad, a cop, a lawyer, which I also blame on Tom Cruise seein’ as that stretch, thankfully brief, came after Cill saw A Few Good Men. Then he was back to firefighter, moved on to Navy SEAL, then latched onto fighter pilot. Not one of ’em is a desk job that would make a mother’s heart settle, ’cept bein’ a lawyer, which would make his father’s head explode. But with this last one, it’s been years. I’m thinkin’ this one’s here to stay.”

“And get this!” Cillian butted in. “Dad’s got a friend who’s an instructor at Luke in Phoenix and we’re goin’ there for Christmas and we’re goin’ on the base and Uncle Chopper thinks he can get me in the flight simulator!”

“Do or die,” Mickey muttered and when I looked at him questioningly, he explained, “Luke’s an Air Force base. And Chop is gonna show us around. Cill sees and does, he either knows he’s gotta work at that, and it isn’t easy, or he’ll have to explore other options.”

I turned to Cillian. “How old are you?”

“Eleven,” he told me.

“You do have some time to figure it out,” I remarked.

“Not if I wanna get in the Air Force Academy, which is the only way to go, so I wanna get in the Air Force Academy. And I gotta have it together to do that,” Cillian replied with hard to miss determination.

I was astonished at his maturity that mingled naturally with his childish effusiveness.

Astonished by it and charmed by it.

“I’ll bet you do,” I murmured, falling a little in love with Cillian Donovan.

“Go get your sister, son,” Mickey ordered.

“’Kay,” Cillian agreed and again jumped off his stool and raced away.

I wrapped my fingers around my beer and took a pull before looking to Mickey and asking, “Can I help?”

“As I said, not lost on me you’ve run yourself ragged since you got to Magdalene, so no. Let me and my kids do the work, babe. You just relax.”

Relaxing would be good, but in Mickey’s presence, I figured it was highly unlikely.

But at that moment, what I really wanted was to find a nice way to ask him not to call me “babe.”

I wanted this because it reminded me of Conrad calling me that and it not meaning anything.

I also wanted it because I wanted it to mean something when Mickey said it, but it still didn’t.