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SOFIA

Irun my fingers through my son’s dark chocolate hair before I bend his head back for a small kiss between his brows. “You, mister, are a mess.”

He grins, small square teeth smeared with the green sauce I’d put over his eggs and toast. This child… his craving for complex flavors flabbergasts me. Not that I don’t like good food, but I don’t have the taste buds he does.

Who knew you could have a four-year-old food snob? I didn’t. I mean, I do now because he’s mine. But I never would have guessed when he was an infant.

“You done? Or are you finishing up the rest of those eggs? We’ve got to get moving. Remember, Mommy has school today.”

“I eat it.” Noah tucks in to the last few bites as I pack his favorite snack and mini tablet into his backpack. He brings me his plate, and we wash his hands and face before I tell him to go get dressed. He’s pretty good about doing it on his own.

It lets me finish cleaning the kitchen and double-check my bag for the day. I triple-check that I have my thumb drive with my project proposal.

Gathering Noah up, it’s only a few-minute drive to Mom and Dad’s house, although Mom isn’t home. She’s got a serious tour of Spain, Portugal, and France this semester to push her new poetry book and do a mini mentoring session for her university contacts.

I’m super proud of her, but she’salwaysbusy. It means Dad and I are often left together for long stretches. I don’t mind. Dad is awesome. He’s a great grandfather and a better babysitter.

He’s bent with his arms open when he answers the door, and Noah dives into them. “I thought that since today is a special day, we would order from that new Greek place. The one with the stuffed grape leaves.”

“Ooh.” Noah hugs my dad’s neck with a grin. And I know my father will be filling him up with new things, talking about the ethics of buying food like this from the people whose ancestors made it.

I reach in to pinch his smiling chipmunk cheeks. “Save me one to try. If you can.”

Dad nods me inside. “Got a new coffee blend. I can make you a cup if you have a minute.”

“Sure. Thanks, Dad.”

His knowing smile lights up his blue eyes. “You meet Trevino this morning for your thesis approval, don’t you?”

I suck in a deep, shaky breath. I’m anxious because I just want to get started on it. I’m already wearing my camera glasses. “Yes.”

“I know you’ve had those on all summer, but I’m still not used to seeing you in glasses.” He sets Noah in a seat at the kitchen island and puts a bowl of cut up fruit in front of him.

I laugh. That will keep him occupied for a while.

Dad starts his fancy coffee machine—something I have absolutelynoidea how to use—and I pull the milk from the fridge to bring to him.

“I did take last week off. You acclimatized back.”

His shoulder knocks into mine gently. “You’re probably right.”

Dad taps and stirs a few other things and the rich scent of coffee fills the air. “Hey, honey. You free to take on a babysitting job for a friend this semester?”

“Which friend?” Dad’s too well-connected across campus for me to just say yes to that. Especially since the last time he asked, it was for Dr. Squires, and I didnotget along with that little girl. I really tried.

But she is just like her mother, who for some reason always seems to feel like we’re competing for something.

“Braxton. You’ve seen his little girl a few times. Birdie.”

“Quiet. Liked to color.”

“Yeah. That’s her. She’s eleven now.”

“Dear God. I’m feeling old, Dad.”

“Imagine how I feel.” Dad winks at me. “He’s got a regular sitter, but he needs someone for overnights. You can bring Noah along.”