Page 76 of After the Rain

"Better world," I corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Though I have to say, the breadsticks there don't compare to Cooper's Pop Rocks cereal idea."

"Nothing could compare to that level of innovation."

"We're raising a future food scientist."

"Or a future chaos agent. Could go either way."

The weekend brought even moredomestic bliss. Saturday morning started with Cooper bouncing on my bed at dawn, demanding pancakes and announcing his intention to "help" with every step of the process.

"I can crack eggs," he declared, standing on a kitchen chair with an egg in each small hand.

"Carefully," I warned, knowing this was about to get messy.

"I'm always careful," Cooper said, immediately proving himself wrong by cracking both eggs directly onto the counter instead of into the bowl.

"Good thing we have extra eggs," Ezra observed mildly, grabbing paper towels.

"And extra counter space to clean," I added, watching Cooper survey his handiwork with pride.

"Cooking is harder than it looks," Cooper announced.

"That's why we practice," Ezra said, helping him crack the replacement eggs properly. "Everyone makes mistakes when they're learning."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. Ask your dad about the first time I tried to make dinner for you guys."

I laughed, remembering the smoke alarm incident from two weeks ago. "Let's just say the fire department didn't need to come, but it was close."

"What happened?" Cooper asked, eyes wide with delight at the prospect of adult incompetence.

“Mr. Mitchell tried to cook salmon," I explained, earning myself a playful shove from Ezra.

"The recipe said 'high heat,'" Ezra defended. "It didn't specify how high."

"Apparently not 'surface of the sun' high," I said.

"The salmon was... well done," Ezra admitted.

"The salmon was charcoal," I corrected. "We ordered pizza instead."

"And now you know why I stick to simple foods," Ezra said to Cooper. "Like pancakes. Much harder to burn pancakes."

"Challenge accepted," I muttered, which made both of them laugh.

The treehouse construction turned into an all-day project. Ezra proved surprisingly handy with power tools, and I found every excuse to brush against him, to steady him when he climbed the ladder, to hand him tools that required our fingers to touch.

"You're being awfully helpful," Ezra observed when I pressed against his back for the third time while "helping" him measure a board.

"I'm a very hands-on supervisor," I replied, my breath warm against his ear.

"Daddy, are you going to help or just stand there touching Mr. Mitchell?" Cooper called from his branch perch.

"Multitasking," I called back, making Ezra laugh.

"No, Daddy, the floor goes this way," Cooper directed, pointing with the authority of a seven-year-old architect. "And Mr. Mitchell, can you make the walls taller? I want to be able to stand up in there when I'm a grown-up."

"How tall do you plan to be?" Ezra asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

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