Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Wren.” I shook my head at Eric’s youngest kiddo. They’d nabbed a white lab coat from somewhere and thick goggles spattered with batter completed their mad scientist look. Short and stout, Wren’s build was not unlike my own, and I’d always had a soft spot for them. But even my affection had limits, and my inner dad voice took over. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean what did I do?” Sliding off the stool, Wren pulled themselves up to their full unsubstantial height. They were undoubtedly one of the shortest seventh graders. And smartest, their high IQ getting them into endless pickles. Neither of my two kids had been nearly so disaster-prone at this age. Practically snorting smoke like a dragon, Wren glared at their brother, who was lounging in the doorway to the dining room. “John texted you, didn’t he?”
For his part, John shrugged, causing his Mount Hope Football T-shirt to tug across his chest. Despite the fact that John also wasn’t the tallest kid, I often forgot he and Wren were bio siblings. Where Wren was a hurricane and a force of nature, John was a placid lake, calm and cool, unruffled by Wren’s indignation.
“It was that or wake Dad.”
“And I’m glad you didn’t do that. Eric needs rest,” I said quickly, already moving to right the syrup bottle. “Jonas is at work?”
Jonas’s rangy cattle dog, Oz, lurked near John’s leg, a clear sign Jonas wasn’t in the house or his basement room. He’d continued to work his shifts as an ER supervisor even through his own divorce and Montgomery’s illness. But he did enough around the house and with the kids that Wren likely wouldn’t have attempted whatever the heck this mess was had he been home.
“Yep.” John nodded before pointing at the stairs. “Rowan and Dad are both still asleep.” Rowan was Eric’s fourth teen and a notorious night owl. I wasn’t shocked he’d slept through this disaster. Eric was still sleeping in Maren’s room on the third floor, so he likely hadn’t heard the commotion, thankfully.
“They both need their sleep.” I gave Wren a pointed look.
“Agreed.” John sounded far older than almost sixteen, weary tone more parental than brotherly. “But Wren had the bright idea to make popping pancakes.”
“Popping pancakes?” I studied the splatters all over the kitchen cabinets for clues. Upon closer examination, what I’d initially assumed to be lumps of batter looked closer to round butter pellets.
“Exactly. Pancakes that pop.” Wren bobbed their head, wild hair shaking from their obvious enthusiasm. “Like those candies that explode in your mouth? But breakfast. And the explosions in your mouth would be syrup and butter.”
I blinked. Wren’s delight in the word explosions was more than a little disconcerting.
“Sounds more violent than most breakfasts.” I was joking, but Wren predictably didn’t laugh. A sense of humor wasn’t among their many gifts, so I backtracked. “I mean, brilliant invention. But slightly dangerous?”
“It’s science.” Wren gave me a withering look. “I know what I’m doing.”
That made one of us. I still didn’t know what I was doing back in Mount Hope, what I was doing with my life, or how to effectively help Eric and the kids. Heck, I didn’t even know what I’d been doing earlier with Denver. I’d practically begged for a repeat despite Denver’s disgust at my lack of experience. He might be reluctant to go for another round, but my body had no such reservations. That had been the single best sex act of my life, confirming decades of suspicion, and something I was desperate to have more of. But first, I had to broker teen peace and supervise kitchen cleaning.
“Bad science. Maybe your calculations were wrong?” John made the suggestion with an offhand tone, but Wren made an indignant noise even as he continued, “And now we have a huge mess and no breakfast.”
“Let’s remedy that.” I slipped into my familiar in-charge role. Both as a dad and fire captain, I was comfortable leading unruly teams past conflict and toward a common goal. Like breakfast. “Is there more pancake mix?”
“Of course. Dad buys in bulk.” John pointed at the well-stocked pantry at the rear of the kitchen.
“Let’s clean up, and then I’ll whip up a fresh batch. No popping.” I made the executive decision that we’d had enough science experiments for the morning. I might not have a ton of experience in parenting genius mad scientists, but raising Declan and Bridget, as well as all my years in fire stations, had made me an A-plus pancake flipper.
Naturally, Wren groaned in defeat. “But—”
“I’ll make bacon as well.” I retrieved a large package from the fridge, grateful Eric kept Wren’s favorite food in stock. As a huffy Wren and John started scrubbing cabinets, I readied a cast iron skillet, the sizzle reminding me of the diner.