Page 1 of Turn My Crank

one

. . .

Colby

The damn alarm didn't go off. Or maybe it did, and I slept through it. Either way, I'm screwed.

"Susie!" I call, my voice echoing through our small bungalow as I throw off the covers. "Time to get up, pumpkin!"

No response. Of course.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and wince at the time. 7:42 AM. School starts at 8:30, and we're supposed to be there early today because it's Ms. Reeves' birthday, and Susie insisted on bringing cupcakes.

Cupcakes that are still sitting in a box on the kitchen counter, waiting to be transferred to the plastic carrier I forgot to buy yesterday.

"Shit," I mutter, yanking a clean t-shirt over my head. I step into yesterday's jeans—they don't smell too bad—and run my fingers through my hair. No time for a shower.

"Susie!" I try again, louder this time, as I make my way down the hallway. "We're running late, baby. Rise and shine!"

I push open her door to find my six-year-old daughter still bundled in her unicorn comforter, nothing visible but a tangle of dark curls on the pillow.

"Five more minutes, Daddy," she mumbles, disappearing further under the covers.

"No can do, pumpkin." I flip on the light and move to her closet. "We've got cupcakes to deliver, remember? Ms. Reeves' birthday?" I pull out the outfit she'd laid out last night—thank God for small favors—and set it on the bed.

At the mention of cupcakes and her beloved teacher, Susie's head pops up. "Is it really her birthday today?"

"Yep. Now, can you get dressed while I make breakfast? We need to hurry."

She nods earnestly, suddenly wide awake. "I can do it fast. Super fast."

"That's my girl."

In the kitchen, I pour cereal into bowls with one hand while texting Lane with the other.Running late. Cover for me at the shop?We're supposed to be working on a vintage Harley this morning, but family comes first. Lane knows that.

My phone pings with his reply:Got you covered, man. Tell the munchkin I said hi.

I smile despite the chaos. Good friends are worth their weight in gold.

"Daddy! I can't find my left shoe!" Susie's panicked voice calls from her bedroom.

Of course she can't. Because nothing can ever be simple.

"Check under the bed!" I yell back, pouring milk and grabbing two spoons.

I glance at the cupcakes, mentally calculating how I'm going to transport two dozen chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting without a carrier. The box they came in is falling apart, and I don't have time to run to the store.

"Found it!" Susie announces triumphantly as she skips into the kitchen, mismatched socks on her feet and her shirt buttoned wrong. But she's dressed, and that's what matters.

"Good job, pumpkin. Eat up," I say, sliding her bowl across the counter. "We've got ten minutes."

She climbs onto a stool and eyes the cupcakes. "How are we taking those to school?"

"I'm working on it."

I rummage through the cabinets, finding a large plastic container that usually holds leftovers. It'll have to do. As I carefully transfer the cupcakes, Susie chatters about Ms. Reeves and how excited she is to surprise her.

"Ms. Reeves is the best teacher in the whole world," she declares between bites of cereal. "She lets me help with the class fish, and she says my drawings are ex-qu-is-ite." She pronounces the word carefully, proudly.

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