Marie reached him and stopped, swaying slightly with exhaustion. Her expression, however, remained serious. “The dessewt table was a success.”
“Was it?”
“The items fwom the excellent end are almost gone.” She held up her hand, fingers spread. “Only this many pieces left of Joy’s tawt. And Ella’s cookies are completely gone.”
“That indicates appropriate consumer response to quality.”
Marie nodded gravely. “The items fwom the caution end are still there. Even though almost everyone has left.”
Lincoln considered this data. “That also indicates appropriate consumer response.”
“Aunt Way took one of her own bwownies home. She said she’d give it to Uncle Dorian later.” Marie’s nose wrinkled. “I think she was joking.”
“With Aunt Ray, it’s difficult to tell.”
“I know.” Marie yawned so wide her whole face seemed to disappear into it. “Gwandma Charlie says I’m going home with her and Gwandpa Finn tonight. Mommy and Daddy will be there tomowwow.”
“That’s the plan. Then I’ll see you again on Christmas day.”
Marie tugged at his hand—the same gesture she’d used earlier, when they’d been organizing desserts together. Her fingers were still faintly sticky.
“Since Aunt Joy is having a baby, does this mean Bear will have someone to teach? Like you teached me about dessewts?”
Lincoln ignored the error and considered the question. A new variable in the family equation. Bear and Joy’s child would enter a system already populated with cousins and aunts and uncles and the accumulated wisdom of three generations. The child would probably learn things Lincoln naturally had never been able to pick up—how to read social cues, how to make small talk, how to navigate the complicated waters of human interaction.
But maybe they would also learn other things. The satisfaction of a well-organized system. The pleasure of accuracy. The comfort of someone who took you seriously even when you were very small.
“The probability is high,” he said.
Marie nodded, satisfied with this assessment. “Good. Babies need smawt people.” Another yawn, this one accompanied by a full-body droop. “I’ll help too.”
Something shifted in Lincoln’s chest. He almost smiled.
“Marie!” Charlie’s voice carried down the hallway. “Come on, sweetheart. Time to go.”
Marie squeezed his hand once, then released it. “Bye, Lincoln. Mewwy Chwistmas Adam.”
“Merry Christmas Adam.”
She padded back down the corridor toward her grandmother. Lincoln watched her go, then continued to the back room for his laptop.
When he emerged, Charlie was waiting for him near the main entrance, Marie balanced on her hip, already asleep. In her free hand, she held a to-go container.
“Here.” She pressed it into his hands. “Items from the excellent end. You earned it.”
“All I did was organize a table. It wasn’t difficult.”
“You organized a table by quality and didn’t cause a single family feud. That’s a Christmas miracle.” Charlie’s mouth twitched. “I’m never asking you to do that again.”
Lincoln accepted the container.
“Actually, no.” Charlie shifted Marie higher on her hip. “This is your job now. Forever. Annual duty. You and your assistant here.”
Marie mumbled something unintelligible against Charlie’s shoulder.
“Noted,” Lincoln said. “And task gladly accepted.”
Charlie reached up and patted his cheek—the same gesture she’d used when he was small, when he’d done something that pleased her and she wanted to hug him but knew he wouldn’t like that. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.
