Page 61 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“Well, now I need some of this delicious cereal,” Clint said, making his way into the kitchen to grab a bowl. He took a seat between Griffin and Silas, reached for the Apple Cinnamon Cheerios and poured himself a heaping bowl.

“Whoa, Dad, go easy,” Talia said. “Leave some for the rest of us.”

Clint shot his daughter a look, but she didn’t cower. She just met him with a cheeky look of her own that reminded him so much of her mother at that moment. It was a wave of nostalgia he wasn’t prepared for and made him a little lightheaded.

Then Talia dropped the act and grinned. “Actually, I think there’s another full box in the pantry. Go crazy, old man.”

Brooke and several of the children snorted laughs.

“Old man?” Clint exclaimed.

Talia giggled.

He shook his head and reached for the milk jug, pouring in over his cereal.

Then, the table grew silent, save for the sound of eight people crunching, enjoying their afternoon cereal.

“How old are you, Uncle Clint?” Silas asked. “You’ve got more gray in your beard than the last time I saw you.”

Another snorted laugh came from Brooke’s end of the table.

Clint tipped his gaze up and could tell she was once again trying to hide her smile by staring down at her bowl of cereal.

“You see me every day, Si. What’s with the sudden attack on my youth?”

“Well, I feel like you have more gray hairs than yesterday,” Silas said innocently. “That’s all.”

“My dad is forty-four,” Talia said proudly. “And that makes Uncle Bennett forty-two, Uncle Wyatt is forty—”

“Uncle Jagger is the baby at thirty-six,” Aya cut in.

“So, then my dad is thirty-eight?” Silas asked.

Talia nodded. “Yep. They’re two years apart.”

“Man, Grandma must have had a real hard time with five wild little boys running around. I remember her telling us how they got up to so much mischief. Especially Uncle Jagger. He was really naughty.” Emme set down her spoon and lifted her bowl to drink the milk.

“Uncle Jagger was very naughty,” Clint agreed.

“He pooped in the baseboard heater, right?” Emme asked. “I remember Grandma telling us that.”

The kids all giggled and nodded.

“Your grandmother didn’t really know how to filter herself toward the end,” Clint said blandly. “Seemed we were all fair game for incrimination.”

“How old was he when he did it?” Jake asked. He’d been quiet up until then, reading a book while eating his cereal.

“Thirty-two,” Clint said blandly, which earned him the uproarious laughter from the kids he was expecting. Aya and Talia were holding their bellies. They were laughing so hard.

“He was not!” Silas said, his voice high-pitched and desperate, like he begged for it not to be true.

Clint scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe he was thirty. But I do know that he was old enough to know better.”

“Ewwwww,” the kids all said.

“How old are you, Brooke?” Griffin asked.

Emme elbowed him. “Grandma used to say it was rude to ask a lady her age.”

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