“Your kitchen’s smaller.”
“It is.”
“Can we still bake here?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
He took off his jacket.
Then he noticed the recipe notebook.
“Are we making cinnamon rolls?”
“If you want to.”
He grinned.
Ethan stayed near the doorway while Noah washed his hands.
Before leaving, he looked at me.
“Thank you for having him.”
I nodded.
“I’ll bring him home at five.”
“All right.”
When the door closed, Noah pulled a chair toward the kitchen counter.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Dad says things are different now.”
I put down the measuring cup.
“They are.”
“Did I do something?”
I turned toward him.
“No, sweetheart. None of the problems between the adults are because of you.”
He considered that.
“Can I still come see you?”
I brushed a little flour from his sleeve.
“We’ll keep making plans together.”
He nodded, then reached for the recipe notebook.
