Kellan stooped lower on his approach, which was silly given that there wasn’t anyone behind them. “Can I use the rest of my money for Skittles?”
To teach money management, Gavin had given both his sons a budget of spending for their outing in return for them wiping down the baseboards upstairs at the house.
Not that he needed to pat himself on the back, but look at him being a master at the whole dad thing. Teaching money management, how to scrub baseboards, and not once had anyone had to go to urgent care the whole time Rachel was away.
Next parenting level mastered.
He wasn’t getting cocky, he’d just finally gotten the hang of this dad gig—if he said so himself.
“What happened to the candy you already bought?” Gavin whispered as the movie flickered in the background.
“I”—Kellan leaned his face right up to Gavin’s—“Ate. It.”
“If I give you money for Skittles, will you get Milk Duds for me?” Gavin asked, Kellan’s face still pressed near his.
Kellan nodded sagely, maintaining eye contact the whole time. “It will be my quest.”
Gavin grinned. He loved this kid. Kellan had a personality bigger than the mountains outside of Denver.
Gavin should give him a noogie, but that might cause a scene. Instead, as the superhero guy tossed a Buick into a wall of glass on the screen, Gavin reached for his wallet and took out a twenty, handing it over. “Come right back.”
“I get to go by myself?” Kellan asked, clearly surprised.
But the concession stand was right outside the door, so Gavin trusted Kellan to make the purchase. He and Rachel had been working on building up their confidence and letting them get the feel for life skills. Small steps to things they needed to do as teenagers and adults. Like, for instance, buying Milk Duds for their dad while he watched a really bad movie.
“Bring me change,” Gavin said seriously, because otherwise Kellan would buy a whole boatload of other candy, too.
Kellan frowned. “C’mon Dad.”
“Change,” Gavin said as Kellan headed toward the exit. “And make good choices.”
Gavin resettled in his recliner, basking in the glory of fatherhood mastery, when he felt the weight of Molly’s stare heavier than the pull of Hollywood’s car chase.
He turned in her direction.
She was blinking at him with big ol’ owl eyes.
“What?” he asked, unable to stop himself from squirming under the scrutiny of a parent who clearly had more experience than he did.
“Nothing.” Molly shook her head, dark curls bobbing.
A squeal of tires echoed across the screams of the bystanders—in the movie—and just as quick as all of that, he was questioning his parenting choices.
“Did I just do something I’m going to regret?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the door. The door with a little window. A little window where he could see Kellan waiting in line at the concessions stand.
“Maybe.” She lifted a shoulder just a smidge. “I do regrettable things all the time. Ask my kid, he’s got lots of opinions about thisanda list.”
No, he was confident in his parental choices. “It’s good. He’s good.”
Molly didn’t seem so sure.
Which made him question himself further. “I’d like to think I know what I’m doing.”
“How’s that working out for you?” She did the slow blink thing again.
“Seriously, if you have something to say, just spill it.” He paused, checking on Kellan once more. Still good. Still alive. Then back to the movie. Still just as bad as before. “Actually, don’t. I don’t need help. It’s all under control.”
She did a snort thing that was equal parts adorable and unnerving.
