Faint cheers drift through the door. “Ride the bikes! Ride the bikes!”
Knox and I break apart, chuckling.
“We should go check on them,” Knox suggests, and I nod in agreement. He helps me off the counter and dresses me.
My chest ties up in knots at the gentle way he slides my shorts up my legs. His touch is gentle and attentive. My eyes water as my throat clogs with emotion.
Fun is starting to look more like forever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
GRIFFIN
Noah opens the walk-in pantry and exuberantly runs inside. Not even a moment later, he pops his head back out. “What all do we need?”
“Let’s have a look.” I follow behind him and point out everything we need. Noah dutifully carries each ingredient and sets them on the counter. “I think that’s everything.”
“Wait!” he exclaims, then runs back into the pantry. He returns with two aprons. The small one is covered in trains, and he hands the other to me. It’s purple with embroidered words that read “No Bitchin’ in my Kitchen.”
“Uhh…” I stutter.
“Put it on,” Noah demands.
The things I do for this kid…
Aprons on, we work together to mix the batter and turn on the stove. He’s a top-notch sous chef. I show him how to pour the batter, and we go over the rules around the stove. Once I’m satisfied that he understands, we get back to it.
“How do we cook the other side?”
“Like this.” I slip the spatula under the pancake and toss it in the air so it’ll land back on the pan. It’s a move I perfected in myearly twenties, but I must have forgotten the trick because the pancake doesn’t flip.
Noah looks down at the pancake, then at me, and back at the pancake. “I think that’s not how you do it.”
Some time and many more failed attempts later, Noah scrutinizes the pancake batter on the ceiling. “I thought you said you knew how to cook.”
“I did.” Grimacing, I pour more batter onto the pan. The new pancake sizzles a little too much. “It’s been a while.”
Noah hops off the stool I pulled up to the counter for him so he could help and moves to my other side where the stack of finished pancakes sits. “They’re really brown.”
Scratching the back of my head, I examine the pile and realize he’s right.
Okay, time to pivot.
Turning off the stove, I sweep Noah up in my arms and spin in circles. “You mean you’re not going to eat the perfectly burned pancakes we slaved to make?” He giggles and grabs for me, afraid he’ll fly out of my grasp.
“Okay! Okay! I’ll eat them! Put me down!” Noah yelps in between his laughter.
I sit him back on the stool and ruffle his hair. “I’m just pulling your leg.”
Noah blinks repeatedly and glances down at his lap. “No, you’re not.”
My lips pinch, holding back my grin. Clearing my throat, I explain, “It’s an expression. It means that I was joking.”
Noah squints. “What does joking have to do with legs?”
“Well…that’s…a good question. I actually have no idea. It’s just something people say.” I shrug.
Noah does the same. “So, what now?”
