The Sleight Before Christmas (Holiday Hijinx Series Book 2)
The Sleight Before Christmas: Chapter 7

“Eleven days,” Joshua warns over the line. “I’m not fucking around, Thatch.”

“I understand,” I state as I glance over to Ruby, who’s putting Allen through his paces. The last few minutes spent making him rotate the tree from every imaginable angle, where she scrutinizes its placement from feet away.

Their difference in size is almost laughable as she orders her husband around like he doesn’t dwarf her. Ruby can’t be more than five foot one or two, at most. Though her presence alone has her towering over Allen, who is covertly glaring at the side of her head between twists of the monstrous tree. His patience visibly thinning as he rotates it ‘a little further right’ while glancing over at me, a ‘help me’ in his expression. I manage to shoot him a reassuring grin as Joshua runs through his laundry list of threats. Standing in the kitchen, I twist the coiled cord of their landline phone around my pointer, the blood quickly building as it goes purple. The tightening feel of it matching the state of my insides as I’m berated on the phone while watching the Ruby-Allen show.

“I heard you,” I state emphatically, glancing down at my other fingers. Most of which are cut or calloused. All worked close to the bone to keep the asshole on the phone satiated enough to keep his distance. In those seconds, I envy Ruby and Allen—their dynamic, their life, their current dilemma, and daily problems. All of which I would trade in a nanosecond in exchange for my own.

“You better have,” Joshua snaps. “I’ve bought you enough time.”

“I’ll be there, okay? I’m working on it. Everything’s the same. Nothing’s changed. I’ll let you know if it does,” I state, watching Allen turn the tree for a fifth time.

“Let me make this clear, you don’t want me coming to you,” he threatens.

“We’re crystal, and you won’t have to,” I assure before he hangs up.

Fucking dick.

Resisting the urge to close my eyes, Allen shoots me another pleading look as I decide to try and help him as best I can.

“Right there, Allen. From where I’m standing, it’s perfect. No gaps.”

Ruby looks over to me and steps back a little further before giving Allen a decisive nod. “It’ll do,” she says, “thanks, Thatch.”

“No problem,” I say, as Allen grumbles about me not being the one to ‘drag the fucking thing in.’ A second later, Allen warily eyes the boundless boxes of Christmas décor currently filling their living room. As if on cue, Brenden stalks in from the front door, eyes zeroing in on the enormous spruce pine as he speaks up.

“It’s crooked, tilted a little too far right, Mom,” he reports as Allen shoots him a death glare.

“Oh?” Ruby tilts her head in response as Allen runs a finger across his throat for his grinning teenage son. Brenden, the second born of the three Collins siblings, is no less outspoken than his sisters. In fact, I have a suspicion his sisters’ collective candor has made him a bit more of a daredevil. Evidence of that is in the satisfied look in his eyes with the further aggravated state of his father. I can’t help chuckling as he gives me a knowing salute, which I lift my chin to before he stalks toward his bedroom.

Still rattled by my call with Joshua to engage in any more conversation, I slip out the back door. Not missing Allen’s “oh God, now what?” before he and Ruby begin to comically bicker. Nervous energy flitting through me, I stalk back to the woodworking station I set up on the deck before I decided to brave the call. A call that never fails to set my nerves alight. Joshua’s typical, needless, and over-the-top antics only adding to my stress.

Asshole.

But as usual, I’m at his mercy, and I have no fucking choice but to play my part. Resuming where I left off, I position the wood against the table saw. I started fucking around with woodworking after Allen and I finished the deck. My latest obsession is perfecting bevel and chamfer cuts to attempt to create more ornate, intricate edging. Not long after I start, I become blissfully lost in the workings of my hands. Only pulled from concentration when I somehow feel her approaching before her boots sound on the deck.

“You stood me up, Handy Man.”

“Had something come up,” I offer, keeping my eyes lowered. “Didn’t have your number.”

“Then give me your cell phone. I’ll put it in,” Serena offers.

“Don’t have one of those at the moment.”

“You don’t have a phone?”

“Not today,” I counter with edge, embarrassment threatening as I keep my eyes lowered.

“Okay, jeez, vague much?”

“Vague always,” I turn to take her in and immediately regret it. Her gorgeous locks are swept back in a sleek ponytail, which I immediately picture wrapping into my fist. Her latest form-fitting, cropped sweater is bright white. The deep scoop neck giving a peek of mouth-watering cleavage. Today, she’s dressed to hurt me. My suspicion only confirmed when her pouty lips lift in satisfaction at my thorough once-over. No doubt a ploy to make me regret no-showing last night. Her tactic working because, at present, I can’t rip my fucking eyes away.

It’s then I realize there’s my attraction for women, and then there’s my attraction for Serena Collins—which are not one and the same. That truth hammered home as bated seconds pass because no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop picturing what I shouldn’t be. Especially the stretch of her mouth around my cock, or the look of us connecting as I sink into her. As of now, I can’t stop imagining the part of her lips while driving into her for the first time. Of making it hurt so she never forgets it—or me. Of making it so fucking good after, she’ll summon the replay for weeks or months. Lost in the sight of her, I imagine what her palm-sized tits would look like with my marks covering them.

Allen’s daughter, asshole!

“It’s too bad I only have one joint left,” she drops just as intentionally. Translation—last chance, Thatch.

“A real shame,” I counter, flicking my eyes up to her smirking mouth and purposeful lack of gloss. Battling the urge to act on the dozen fantasies forming in my mind, it’s only when she greets Allen that I fully snap out of my stupor. Faking a pencil line on the wood I’m working with, I keep my eyes averted as his boots sound on the deck.

“Hey, Daddy,” Serena greets him, her tone saccharin. “It looks really good out here.”

In a call of bullshit, I catch her inquisitive gaze and accompanying smirk just as she quirks a brow in an unspoken question of ‘tonight?’ When I give her the faint dip of my chin, she flashes me a soul-snatching smile. Satisfied, she pulls Allen in for a hug.

“You two really did the damned thing out here,” she says, seemingly sincere with her compliment. “I mean it. This deck is beautiful.”

Pride swelling, I flit my own gaze to the pattern of the weathering wood that Allen and I carefully planned out before hammering each board in. Allen thanks her as his own eyes trail appreciatively along the massive deck. Our careful planning making the wood more like a natural extension of the house. The addition only amplifies the view past the neighborhood to the distant rolling hills beyond. Though it took us months to finish because of my inexperience, Allen patiently and painstakingly schooled me every step of the way.

I wasn’t bullshitting Serena when I told her Allen had taught me a lot about carpentry. In doing so, he introduced me to a lot more than a way to distract myself and help me get through my personal shit. He also gave me a glimpse of a possible light at the end of a very long tunnel. An avenue I intend on pursuing as far as I can.

But first things first, and that’s my imminent exit. Though, it’s the girl dressed in dark jeans and a bright white sweater who has me becoming less anxious to hasten it—the reason I intentionally didn’t venture to the shed last night. Ironically, and now, the very reason I decide not to miss my closing window with her tonight.

I’ll have earned my freedom in a week or two, which should only relieve me. But gaining that freedom now means leaving Ruby, Allen, Serena, and the rest of the Collins family behind. A family who has taken me in and shielded me from the shit show that is my life. The idea of them filling my rearview has me sinking in my skin as her eyes weigh heavy on my profile. Allen greets me warmly before he checks my work, full of encouragement. Unable to help myself, I trail the girl who just sent my chest pumping and catch the sweet upturn of her sinful lips as she walks through the back door of the house. Our eyes holding briefly through the glass as she pulls it closed.

It’s during that short exchange that every fiber of my being lights with the same message it did the first time I laid eyes on her.

Fuck.

“I want to pick first!” Peyton demands as Ruby emerges from the kitchen with Frosty’s hat. One we use for the annual mystery Rudolph drawing. A tradition in which we all pick one name out of the hat to buy a gift for twenty bucks or less. The rules remaining unchanged since the Collins kids began marrying and multiplying. The tradition is an effort to have every adult open at least one gift while keeping the budget reasonable so the bulk of each family’s Christmas fund is spent on the kids. The catch being that each gift is meant to let the person you’re buying for know how well you know them. Ruby, a veteran in mysterious and highly subliminal gift-giving, is now only matched in skill by my newest brother-in-law, Eli.

Even so, I’ve fared well enough in mystery Rudolph over the years, having known and been a part of this family for a little over half my life. It’s that thought that has my lips curving up after reliving that call with Joshua. My current problems now similar to those I was envying during that time. As shit as things have been lately, at least I have that silver lining.

“What’s that grin about?” Eli asks, nudging me where we sit side by side at the breakfast table.

Turning, I meet the ice-blue eyes of Whitney’s husband, who, short years ago, appeared as the ghost of Whitney’s Christmas past after a seventeen-year hiatus. Formerly college sweethearts, Eli broke Whitney’s heart suddenly after eight months of serious dating. Long years later, and through the most serendipitous of circumstances, Eli got a job working with Brenden. Shortly after, he took his shot, accompanying Brenden for Christmas here at the cabin to deliver a belated apology before managing to win Whitney back. It was the same year that Serena and I had hit our communication stalemate, which turned out to be a blessing. Brenden and his wife, Erin, had their own issues during that time. That year, Brenden’s blind ambitions had him moving his family from Nashville to Charlotte to kickstart his company—Networth Inc. Their resolution being sorted when Brenden moved her back. But only after finding out that Christmas that she was miserable and hiding it to support his business venture.

It was a good Christmas for all of us. One I hope we can mirror this year, at least in the resolution sense.

“It’s a miracle Thatch smiles at all, having married this one,” Brenden chimes as he saunters in, his youngest son, Jameson, on his hip. Brenden’s older two, Wyatt and Conner, trail behind, as does Erin, who greets us all with a warm smile and ready hugs. Though all of us reside in Nashville, Brenden and his crew pulled into Triple Falls especially late last night, leaving only Eli and Whitney awake to greet them.

“Hey man,” I say, getting up to give Brenden a bro hug just as he runs his fingers down my wife’s scalp and forehead before giving her pig nose. The table collectively laughs as Serena swats his hand away before standing to embrace him.

“You’re such an asshat,” Serena greets, hugging him fiercely. While Whitney is my wife’s other person, she has a heavily concealed soft spot for her overly sarcastic, highly self-involved little brother.

Conversation explodes as the mixed greetings begin, and I can’t help my chuckle when Allen takes out his hearing aids, AKA his ‘ears’ to avoid the commotion. My amusement is cut short as my narc of a son calls him out for it an instant later.

“Grammy, Gramps took out his ears!” Peyton exclaims.

Allen gives Peyton the stink eye as he defends his actions. “It’s really loud in here, so I wonder why?”

Peyton stares back at him cluelessly as Ruby scolds him. “No one likes a tattle, Grandson.”

“But Grammy,” Peyton protests, “you always tell him to put in his ears!”

“That’s right. I tell Gramps,” she points to herself. “Not you. Children have no place telling adults what to do.”

Get him, Grammy!

“Well, I tell my Daddy all the time what to do, and he does it, right, Daddy?” Peyton counters, stealing my grin while making me his bitch with that delivery. Neck heating, I duck under the stares of every adult surrounding us before I remember myself, glowering at Peyton as I voice my reply.

“Did I turn the radio to Wiggles yesterday when you ordered me to?”

“No,” Peyton replies instantly, but with contempt.

“Did I get your suitcase?”

“No.”

“Did I read to you last night when you ordered me to?”

“No, and that was not nice!”

The heads surrounding us whip back and forth as I finish. “So, yeah, Daddy doesn’t do what you say anymore because you’re not nice.”

Inquisitive eyes bounce between me and Serena before she nervously speaks up. “Soooo, Thatch and I need an emergency meeting with all adults before we leave to shop for mystery Rudolph.”

Gracie immediately snaps to, eyes darting furiously between Serena and me, which I consider a win.

“We just got here,” Brenden groans. “There’s already a fire?”

“Don’t worry, bro. I said adults,” Serena drawls out dryly, “so you can color with the rest of the booger pickers.”

“Awesome. Tell me, how was the flight here, sis?” Brenden counters.

Serena frowns. “You know we drove.”

“Ah, so you finally gave the broom a much-needed break. Probably lost some frequent flyer points, but you must have, what, at least two million miles on it by now?”

“Walked right into that one,” Whitney chuckles as Serena, who’s already in motion, flips the top of the ketchup bottle in her hands before unloading it on Brenden’s freshly plated eggs. No visible trace of yellow left by the time she tables it.

Brenden immediately shovels a forkful into his mouth, speaking around it. “Doc says I need to eat more vegetables.” He shoots Serena a wink. “Thanks for looking out, big sis.”

“Eat poo and keel over, brother,” Serena delivers sweetly before pulling Erin into a hug. “I love you. Only you.”

“Not me too?” Conner asks, Brenden’s oldest. Though our niece is mostly as soft-spoken as her mother, she’s become more participatory in sarcastic ping-ponging the last year or two, which is the Collins’ official love language.

Serena snatches Conner into a hug next. “Definitely you too, and you,” she says, embracing Wyatt, Brenden’s middle child. Wyatt, who speaks as often as Brenden and Erin’s youngest son, Jameson, who’s half his age and still in diapers. Not only is Wyatt politely mute, but he’s forever dressed like he stepped out of a baby GQ closet and seems to prefer it. I see it the second Serena joins me in juxtaposing our kids—who are closest in age—just as Peyton voices his distaste for his mother’s generous affection.

“The hell? Mommy, you didn’t hug me good morning!”

Erin’s jaw drops as Peyton spills some ketchup-covered eggs on his ‘Stealing Hearts, Blasting Farts’ tee before rubbing the stain in further with his smothered fingers.

“Because you bit me,” Serena states.

“That was a long time ago!” Peyton defends.

“Peyton,” Whitney admonishes. “You bit Mommy?”

“Yes,” he states without an ounce of remorse. “It was a long time ago, Auntie Whit.” I can practically see the batting of lashes in his tone.

“Days,” Serena says. “Days ago.”

Peyton’s eyes bug as he scolds her. “No one likes a tattle, Mo-may!”

“The . . . fuck?” Eli utters softly, confusion riddling his expression as he looks to me for an explanation, and I whisper my update.

“Yes, your favorite nephew is now displaying sociopathic tendencies. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Buckle up, brother,” I utter in warning.

“Really?” Eli asks, watching closely as Peyton shovels more eggs into his mouth. The year Eli appeared, the family fell for him as fast as Whitney did, but my son was the first on the bandwagon. Peyton and Eli have bonded closely and heavily since. So much so that I can feel genuine paternal concern now as Eli observes him.

After the last of the greetings are exchanged, I flit my focus to Whitney who is all smiles this morning. Still newlyweds, both Eli and Whitney are a mere step into their forties and have no kids of their own. The circumstances behind it are part life’s shitty hand, and I suspect now purposeful in not exploring other options as they both live for family gatherings, Whitney especially. It’s obvious as she beams at the overly full table and catches my eye.

“What in the hell is up, stranger?” She confronts me instantly. Over the years—and from the start—Whitney and I bonded quickly, having become best friends over time. To the point we sometimes hang out, and often Christmas shop together. Those get-togethers have been scarce in the last year. Though I assumed her new husband would take some of the heat off the fact I’ve been more absent, I can see the hurt in her eyes now.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I can feel Serena tuning in next to me. “We’ve been swamped.”

“No . . .” Whitney ping pongs her focus between Serena and I, “something’s definitely up, but I’m guessing we’ll find out at the meeting?”

I nod, already dreading the conversation as Ruby rounds the table with Frosty’s hat.

“Grammy, I said I wanted to pick first!” Peyton booms over the noise of the entire table before all goes quiet, and Serena and I are accosted by the first lingering look of judgment.

“Well, since you’re being naughty about it,” Ruby steps in, saving us, “you get to pick last.”

“Grammy! That’s not nice!” Peyton screeches as I wince. “Why is everyone not being nice to me?”

“Because you’re misbehaving, Peyton, and you know it,” Ruby relays evenly. A heartbeat later, my son is slamming his fist on the table, his fork in hand to amplify the noise. The instant Wyatt starts to join in, a mere word and stern look from Brenden stops it. Serena and I watch as Wyatt obediently forks a bit of his eggs, chewing like an adult before dabbing his mouth with his napkin. His sweater and starched undershirt sparkling as he politely asks his mother for more juice. Envy takes a stronghold as Serena and I hold our gaze, and I mouth my Christmas wish, “I want that.”

Nodding, she blows out a loaded breath as all adult eyes start to curiously trail back to us. The mystery of the conversation we’ve asked for already unraveled as our son continually shows his ass.

Not twenty minutes later, every one of those adults’ jaw is hanging slack as we list our grievances and why we’re taking the steps we are.

“So, as of now, you two are Bebe’s kid-sing it?” Whitney states without hesitation. Her use of movie terms as verbs never ceasing to amaze me.

“What is Bebe’s kids?” Serena asks.

“It’s a movie,” Whitney says in short explanation, her voice full of concern.

“It’s every parent’s worst nightmare, is what it is,” Brenden states. “What is wrong with them? Gracie told Conner to shut up just before they left the table. No one tells Conner to shut up . . . like ever. Little witch.”

“Watch it,” Ruby warns Brenden before he lifts his palms in feigned innocence.

“I’m just saying, I see it. They weren’t like this last year.”

“Serena and Thatch almost stayed home,” Ruby states. “I don’t think any of us wants that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Brenden jokes a second before his face twists in pain. “Oof, baby, shit, do you sharpen that elbow at night?” Erin lifts the elbow she just dislodged from his ribs in threat. “Of course, I don’t mean that,” Brenden continues. “Well, sans Serena.”

“You know, you joke, brother,” Serena counters, her tone watery, “but you act a lot like me. Say the same type of shit, and call it confidence,” Serena defends. “The difference is my delivery. And I get it, I’m the bitchy one, and it’s a running joke in this family, but this shit is not funny. I’m your sister, and I’m hurting right now, and I’m asking you for fucking help.”

“Babe,” I hedge softly, and Serena looks over to me, contempt for her brother shining clear in her eyes, as well as guilt. Most of it is her belief that Gracie’s behavior is her fault. She gives me a nod to take the floor, her emotions already running high. Which in her defense, I understand because Brenden’s kids are models for behavior, which only makes us both feel worse.

“Let’s put that shit away for a second, okay, brother?” I tell Brenden.

Brenden frowns at Serena as his discomfort sets in. He’s not the guy for emotional conversations. Unless the conversation is with or about Erin, his inclination is to forever run away from talks of this sort. Which has gotten him in trouble in the past. But it’s just part of who he is. Even so, he reads the room and thankfully steps up. “Sorry, sis.”

“Yeah,” Serena says dismissively, waving him away.

“No, I mean it, Serena, I’m sorry,” Brenden insists, and Serena reads the sincerity in his expression and nods.

“Me too, bro, I’m just stressed, and Bebe’s kids don’t have shit on ours lately.”

“We’re in trouble here,” I interject. “Peyton is terrorizing his teacher and classmates in pre-K. He’s biting and mimicking Gracie’s worst behaviors. Days ago, he was swinging from his damned ceiling fan because Gracie helped string it up to keep him occupied while she talked Tik Tok bullshit or whatever fascinates tween girls these days.”

“Jesus,” Eli whispers, his eyes darting between us. “He could have—”

“That’s why the destruction of our brand-new house is the least of our concerns,” Serena tosses in as Whitney inches toward her sister. “It’s gotten to the point we can’t go a single day without some incident. And these incidents are supposed to be the once-a-year type of incidents.”

“The latest?” I continue. “Gracie got picked up for shoplifting after we cut off her allowance.” Whitney’s eyes immediately snap to mine, Ruby and Allen’s attention growing just as heavy on my profile while I swallow the sting of that admission.

“Thatch,” Whitney summons, brown eyes earnest when I glance over, “that is not on you.”

“I know, or in a way I do,” I say unconvincingly. “Then again, isn’t it?”

A short silence lingers, and it’s damning as hell. Even so, Whitney steps forward, intent on consoling me. “Thatch, it was a decision Gracie made,” she says in my defense. “And we’re with you,” she glances toward Eli, who looks pained.

“That,” I say, pointing at him. “I know how close you are to Peyton, brother, but this shit is serious. He—” I swallow, still unable to talk about the image haunting me. “They’re disobeying us to the point it’s getting dangerous. Really fucking dangerous,” I relay in a grave tone. “So, either we leave here within the hour, and we understand because this is your holiday too—”

“My ass,” Allen finally speaks, looking equally disturbed. “We do this together,” he insists adamantly.

“Or we stay,” I finish, “but fair warning, this is likely not going to be fun.”

“We’ll be fine,” Whitney says. “Just tell us what to do.”

“Follow our lead,” I say, looking at each of them pointedly. “That’s all we ask. We’re not asking you to watch them or step in. In fact, we’re asking you don’t.”

“Can they do the activities?” Whitney inquires.

“As long as they behave,” Serena answers. “The minute they don’t, they’re out.”

“We’re in,” Erin says. “Whatever you need,” she continues, looking toward Brenden, who, to his credit, looks equally bothered.

“Got it,” Brenden says as Ruby glowers at him. “Got it . . . Mom, jeez, you don’t have to give me the demon mom look. I can be serious,” he defends. “I do have children of my own.” All of us—including his own wife—give him dead stares as he ducks beneath them and spouts off. “I’m quickly becoming offended.”

I roll my eyes. “Follow our lead, and if you guys don’t mind, let’s try to keep cursing to a minimum. I know I’m the worst, but let’s just try. Do not undermine us. We’ll call for backup if we need it.”

“We trust you,” Ruby states, the concern in her voice evident as she keeps my gaze.

“With the actions we’ve decided to take, it might be hard to watch,” I warn them all.

“Yeah, well, desperate times,” Ruby says in support, “and I have a few old tricks up my own sleeve, my boy. If you need them.”

“I’m counting on it,” I wink at her. “You have permission to get ‘em, Grammy.”

“Is this why we haven’t taken them in months?” Whitney asks.

I swallow as Serena’s eyes water.

“Oh, sis, you could have told us,” Whitney consoles.

“We’re embarrassed,” I admit aloud, gripping Serena’s hand.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, do you hear me?” Ruby admonishes. “I’ve been there, as have many other parents. Brenden’s kids are freaks of nature in that respect,” she offers, and Erin smiles, taking zero offense.

“I’m the perfect father,” Brenden says before narrowly missing Erin’s killing blow.

“Any questions?” Serena asks.

Brenden holds his hand up, and Ruby snaps it back down with words alone. “I’ve hidden it so well this year, my baby boy, that your lips won’t be tasting that damned nog until I say it’s time.”

“Shit,” he utters. “Fine, but if we’re going to deal with Operation Crack Bebe’s kids, I’m going to need something to take the edge off.”

“You touch my eggnog before I say the word, and I’m going to take something off you, son. I’m not bullshitting.”

“You know, you could make a double batch, so this conversation is moot—” he shrinks under Ruby’s glare. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I won’t touch it . . . today. No promises about tomorrow.”

“Gravity,” Ruby says, ending their back and forth and unifying us with a single word. “Understood?”

All of us nod, and as everyone starts to file out of the bedroom, Allen palms my shoulder, holding me behind. “Tell me you know this is not your fault.”

I turn back to him and close the door, seeing his concern etched everywhere. “I’m trying not to blame myself. Serena is too, but ultimately, we are responsible.”

“You are and aren’t. As parents, we get to demonstrate and teach them the difference in what one decision looks like and warn them about others. I know how terrified you were when Serena got pregnant with Gracie, but you were a born father, Thatcher. And since have been a natural. A better father than me, if I’m honest.”

“I can’t see that.”

“You’re more attentive. Which I regret. You are a good father, Thatch.”

“Thank you, and I promise, I’m trying not to take it too much to heart, but Jesus, it stings. Truth be told, I haven’t been so attentive since the business took off.”

“Hey, it’s sometimes hard to know how to balance if you don’t know where to. Just trust your instincts. But know that sometimes life has a way of giving us a taste of what we fear most to let us know just how little we need to fear it. There’s no real control, Thatch. I think that’s the scariest part of parenting. If I would have known how terrifying being a father was, and not just because the newborn’s head wobbles like it’s about to fall off,” he chuckles, “but every single day, Jesus, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done it, but my worst fear is—”

“I got a glimpse of it, Allen,” I relay, the image popping in again, “and I promise you I’m only more fucking terrified.”

“Want to talk about it?” He offers.

“I can’t, truly, I can’t. But when I can, I will.”

He nods.

“Thatch, Gracie doesn’t know any other life than the one you’ve provided and the way you taught her. If there’s a bad example for her behavior, you didn’t set it. Tell me you believe me.”

“I appreciate what you’re saying, I do, but my ears are fucking ringing. You’re screaming at me, Dad.”

“Oops,” he says an octave lower, and we share a grin just as Ruby bursts back into the room, holding out his ‘ears.’